When the Bells Toll Their Mourning Song
by ghost-writer-88
Summary: Praxus has fallen and there is only one survivor. However, looks are deceiving and the lone mechling is more than he appears. Prowl/Jazz, Mirage/Hound/Trailbreaker (From the Ashes 'Verse)
1. Chapter 1: A City Falls

Welcome all to the sequel to The Stick Aft's Foil. I highly suggest reading that one and The Replacements before reading this one, if you have not already, as you may not understand everything that is going on otherwise. To all my regular readers and new readers, enjoy.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers or any of the variations thereof.**

**Warnings: in here there be slash of the mech kind, if this is not your cup of joe leave now, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Also, it is my personal policy not to write explicit slash, pronz, lemons, or heavy petting, so if your looking for that you may be disappointed. I do, however, try to write sweet, tender romance to the best of my limited ability, if that is what you like, hopefully, you will be pleased.**

I do like for my reviewers to feel free to nicely point out any grammar/spelling/continuity errors I may make. So please, rate, review, and enjoy!

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**When the Bells Toll Their Mourning Song**

When mecha thought about crystals they always thought of two places, Crystal City and Praxus. Now, Crystal City was better known as the city of glass, for all of its shine and splendor was naught more than excessive use of glassteel. When mecha had followed this train of thought to its completion it would occur to them that the only true city of crystal was Praxus. Most famously known for its enormous central garden of well-tamed spires it was lesser known that the wild crystal pervaded the entire city. Springing through cracks like weeds and climbing buildings like vines the fiercely growing crystals made the city of the doorwingers fairly sparkle.

It was rumored that the original settlers had chosen the spot for religious reasons. Supposedly the site was a wound inflicted upon Primus by the Chaos-Bringer and the resultant bubbling up of fluids was the reason the crystals grew so thickly with so many variations and colors. The true reason had been lost to history but the Praxians did not mind for it gave them an air of mystery. The Praxians were so proud of their crystals that horticulture was their second most prevalent industry. Every tenth vorn an enormous festival was held to celebrate Primus' gift to them and every Praxian, regardless of his current home, returned to the city for the celebration. To not attend was to not be Praxian.

The highlight of the festival was the showing of the new crystals strains and the concert of the bells. Tintinnabula crystals, commonly called 'bells', were a natural strain of crystals that grew with the same prevalence as earth dandelions. The main crystal was an upturned concave shape, the interior of which held a strong magnetic field. This field attracted particulates of crystal dust that compressed to form a colorful suspended aggregate. Now, as impressive as that was, what made them special was their reaction to disturbances. Whenever something, or someone, agitated the atmosphere around the tintinnabulas the aggregate would move in the field and strike the sides. The resultant chime would change tone based on the thickness and age of the main crystal. Due to this variance many was the Praxian composer who specialized in combining these tones with the natural harmonies of other crystals for their compositions. In fact, the citystate's anthem was a concerto of the bells in Q minor.

Now, for all that Praxus loved its crystals, the Praxian enforcers loved them more. For the tintinnabulas were so abundant as to be found on every street and their loud ringing was often the enforcers' first warning that someone was in trouble. Indeed, the bells were so effective that Praxus had one of the lowest crime rates of any city.

A notice was blinking urgently in the corner of his screen. Prowl ignored it as he had the last four. He knew what its contents would say and was tired of his brother's whining. The blue and red Praxian had made his berth and Prowl was going to make him lie in it at least a little while longer. Smokescreen had been assigned to help out temporarily at the Gygax border base and should have been back in Iacon yesterorn. Unfortunately, the diversionary tactician had become bored and decided to spice up his extracurricular activities. Needless to say, the base commander had not been pleased to discover the budding gambling ring being set up in his commissary, particularly when found that his soldiers' weapons were considered viable currency. Smokescreen had been thrown into the brig posthaste.

An official report cum reprimand had been sent to Prowl and it was at this point that the current charade had begun.

Smokescreen expected Prowl to get him out if the brig and Prowl was determined that Smokescreen was going to deal with his own consequences. So what if it made him late to the Festival of the Crystals, it was not as though he were the only one. Skids and Streetwise were both laid up in the Medical Wing with a virus and Prowl himself had been held up by an emergency war council concerning a recent massing of Decepticon forces near Simfur.

As long as they showed before the halfway point of the festival it would not be held against them.

It was an unspoken rule during the festival that no one was to speak. This, however, did not mean that there was no conversation. Indeed, the comm lines in Praxus fairly burned with the number of frequencies in use, and again, the Praxians were very adept at the wing-language they shared with their estranged Vosian cousins.

This second communication form was by far the most entertaining for foreign festival goer. In a normal setting Praxians might move their wings only every once in a while to emphasize a portion of their words, but during the festival, when it became the primary speech method, the Praxians better resembled the mutated offspring of an irritated gyrofalcon and a perturbed basilica beetle.

It was very funny.

Now, the reason for this rule of silence was to prevent errant vibrations from disturbing the sensitive bells. A maestro's entire symphony could be ruined with a single errant chime and the Praxians were always sure to be very respectful of that. Therefore it was quite the oddity when the bells began to ring faintly.

By the time they found the source of the vibrations the seekers were well upon them and already forming up for the first bombing run.

Prowl had just finished making arrangements for Smokescreen's release when the comm came through.

-:- Get to the Command Center. Now! -:-

Smokescreen was joking and laughing with his former jailers when his trinebond was thrown wide open. A look of shock, then grief and horror took over his visage as he registered what was being transmitted over his bond.

His distressed wail could be heard three corridors away.

The mechs with him tried to ask him what was the matter, but he did not answer. Instead he dropped into altmode and redlined his hovers to get out of the base.

He had to get out, he had to get home.

Because home was gone.

There was a saying that knowing and seeing were two very different creatures. Most Cybertronians would claim to understand that phrase, but as they rounded the last steel ridge hiding Praxus from view the Autobots realized they had never really understood at all.

Black, viscous smoke rose in a massive column, obscuring partially the horrible view of the ruined citystate, but even that small glimpse was enough. As they approached the city they had to drive through the debris field left behind by the bombs. At first this was merely a nuisance delaying their rescue efforts, then one of the heavy alts ran over an _arm_.

The closer they got the more chassis-parts they found and many of the Autobots were becoming ill. The likelihood of finding any survivors at this point was looking less and less feasible.

And none of them were more effected than Prowl and Smokescreen.

Smokescreen had joined the caravan of would-be rescuers at the Gygax-Praxus border and he and Prowl huddled close the rest of the trip. Silent keens wracked their frames and made their armor rattle. It had not yet occurred to them that without their prior delays they too would now be lying deactivated amongst the ruins of their home. When they realized it they would mourn even harder.

Jazz picked his way carefully through the debris of a middle class neighborhood and prayed that he would not find any more scenes like the last suburb he had searched. He did not think the image of brutalized sparklings would ever leave his meta so vividly was it burned into his memory core.

He was searching alone as his ops grade scanners and heightened audials worked best without having to differentiate between survivor and teammate. So far though, all he could hear was dripping fluids and settling metal.

When the dark-cycle fell, and continued searching would result in more harm than good, the Autobots retreated to the unused triage camp Ratchet had setup on the outskirts. The evening fueling was a solemn affair and afterwards Optimus held a vigil for the lost sparks. They hummed the traditional laments, each mech offering their own arias to aid the dead in journey back to Primus. Their humming reverberated through the decimated city and came back to the Autobots as a haunting melody.

Jazz was just about to add his harmony to the hum when he noticed a lack of doorwinged mecha. Neither of the two able-chassised Praxians were anywhere amongst the gathering.

Jazz faded back into the darkness.

If Prowl and Smokescreen wanted to mourn alone that was fine by him, but there was no way he was letting them do it without a guard.

Smokescreen shouldered a beam aside as Prowl sifted through the rubble. The black and white found what he was looking for and subspaced it. Then they moved on.

They continued in this manner, one digging and the other clearing larger obstructions, until they felt the airflow over their dorrwings shift.

Immediately, their weapons were in their servos and they had turned to face the enemy with pinpoint accuracy. Jazz stepped out sheepishly. "Sorreh mechs, didn' mean ta startle ya."

The two Praxians relaxed their battle stances, but the frowns did not quite leave their faceplates.

"Yanno mah mechs, it's not safe ta be out here searchin' aftah dark. Ah know ya desperate ta find ya kinsmecha but ya gonna get hurt. N' then ya won' be able ta search at all."

Despite the saboteur's gentle tone the two doorwingers did not take his statement well at all. Prowl's doorwings flared up and out, while Smokescreen's plating fluffed up, giving them both quite the intimidating aura.

"You know nothing of our loss, do not pretend to sympathize with us." Prowl hissed.

Jazz folded his arms. "One, ya two are mah friends, so Ah'm gonna sympathize wit' ya regardless. Two, ya fo'get tha' Polyhex was razed n' is currently occupied by tha Decepticons. So, Ah do know whacha feelin'."

Prowl growled, but Smokey stepped forward to intervene. "To us it is not the same Jazz. Your home still exists. Our home is gone, _forever_, and it can never be brought back. When this war ends you will be able to return, but we have nothing to go back to now."

Jazz sighed. "Ya may be right, bu' tha' doesn' change tha fact tha' ya gonna get hurt lookin' fo' mechs out here in tha dark."

The Praxians' wings twitched and Jazz realized they might not be out here for the reasons he assumed. "Prowl?"

It was like watching a dam fail, it started with the tiniest cracks. "We are not looking for mechs."

Jazz blinked. "Then wha' in Primus' name are ya doin' out here?!"

Prowl and Smokescreen bowed their helms and reminded themselves that this was only Jazz, this was their friend, he could trusted. "We are recovering what is left of our culture."

And Jazz understood. It did not mean he liked it, but he understood. The Polyhexian paced away a few steps, then turned and paced back. "Then ya leave meh wit' no choice."

The doorwingers tensed.

"How c'n Ah help."

They blinked. And then blinked again. What?

Jazz smirked. "Y'all should know by now tha' Ah care too much about ya ta letcha do this wit'out meh. Now, where d'ya want meh ta start?"

It was the screw that broke the chronosteed's back. Jazz pulled the two into his arms as they knelt in the rubble and finally began to weep visibly.

Jazz felt bloated.

He had been asked to scavenge the Crystal Gardens as the giant broken crystals were causing too many problems with the two doorwingers' sensors for them to navigate the area safely. Jazz had joked about saving them from the brown notes which had the desired effect of getting tiny almost smiles from both grieving mechs. Jazz had hesitated though at leaving his friends so they agreed to search the neighborhoods closest to the Garden.

Before he left them Prowl gave him specific instructions on what to look for. Any crystal fragments that had been broken cleanly and had no internal fractures; any pod that still contained undamaged seeds; any seed crystals period. Jazz followed his instructions to the letter until every subspace pocket and armor compartment he possessed was full to bursting. He had kept a count of all the crystals and he was currently carrying just over a thousand pieces. Now, this sounded impressive until one considered that Praxus had tens of thousands of crystal subspecies on record. It could have been worse however, Jazz could have found none.

It was this thought that the saboteur turned through his helm as he made his way out of the broken Garden. He was preparing a comforting explanation along those lines for Prowl when he felt the monolith he was traversing crumble beneath his peds. The huge crystal had fallen against the Garden's walls and created a small undamaged pocket underneath its bole. It was into here that Jazz fell and when he stood from his landing crouch he thought it a very happy accident. There in front of him, showing only slight damage to the roof, was a gift shop. The little building was situated against the wall and it was this, along with the fortuitous falling of the monolith that had saved it from the rest of the city's fate.

Jazz checked the structural integrity of the entire building before he even thought about opening the entry portal; it would not do for the whole thing to come down around his audials while he collected the treasure within. And what a treasure it was. One whole wall was nothing but specialty gardening bookfiles, then there were the dozen or so racks of seed crystals, the shelves of prestarted crystal growths, and in the back, the rarest find of all, a single, bomb-proof display case of lacewing. The whole shop had probably been geared up for the festival as the majority of the specimens present were rare or difficult to grow.

Jazz just stood there for a long moment, staring at the bounty and knowing what it would mean to his Prowler. First, however, before he could gather any of his new treasure he would have to redistribute some of his old findings. He removed a mesh sack from a compartment under his armor and then ransacked the cash register counter for packing meshes. He used the meshes to wrap up his least fragile finds and then carefully stacked them in the sack. Then Jazz gathered up all the datapads and sandwiched them between the wrapped crystals. This opened up room in his secondary ops subspace, which was vibration and bomb-proof like the display case.

Getting the lacewing out was sensor wracking, as one false move would irreparably destroy all of it. Finally, the delicate crystals were safely in his subspace and he could finish pilfering the rest of the store's wares.

It was almost dawn when the three mechs made it back to camp. They were covered in grime and very sore, however, they all felt a sense of sad accomplishment at all that they had recovered. It would never be enough to make up for the loss of the mecha, but at least the essence of Praxus would continue on.

In lieu of the lack of survivors it would have to suffice.

In the end the Autobots only found one survivor.

In a citystate that had numbered over two billion citizens, only one had been able to hold to life; and even then the foundling was at deactivation's door. It took Ratchet two and a half joors just to stabilize him for transport and he still nearly guttered three times before they got him to the medical facility in Iacon.

For Prowl and Smokescreen it was a miracle. They had resigned themselves to being the last, to finding no one, and though the rest of the Autobots considered finding only one to be disparkening, they two rejoiced.

Only two mechs noticed however, how the two Praxians clasped servos and wept. Optimus Prime, who turned away swiftly to make sure no one bothered them, and Jazz, who guarded them from all comers. The Iaconian and the Polyhexian shared a look.

This they would protect.

This they would defend.

And Primus help the Decepticons if they thought even for a nanoklik that they would not pay for what they had done.


	2. Chapter 2: A Little Bit of Everyone

So, I'd like to apologize for the long wait time between postings, unfortunately, the long waits are looking like they may continue for at least another few months thanks to an increase in traffic at work. The good news is that even if I don't get to post on time I will continue to write whenever possible and it may happen that several chapters get posted at once.

Thank you all for your patience and enjoy!

Warnings: past physical abuse of a minor, past unwilling (nonsexual) trine bonding of a minor.

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Chapter 2:

Jazz sat on the floor in his room, faceplates bunched up in deep contemplation, a forgotten datapad hanging limply from his servo. Before this moment the saboteur had been busy organizing and packing away the load of crystals he had collected in Praxus. Prowl and Smokescreen had been too focused on the survivor to retrieve them from Jazz and he wanted them to be safe until his friends were available to collect them. He had placed all the fragments and seeds into ops grade crates and was just starting on the bookfiles when one of them caught his attention. It was on the use of crystals in Praxian courtship. As he read his thoughts began to drift, which parts of this courtship would Prowl use, had he ever courted any mech before, would he want a suitor to do this type of thing for him?

It was not long into this vein of thought that Jazz brought himself up cold. Why was he considering this? Prowl was his friend, not his potential lover. Right? He needed to think, this kind of change of spark was not to be taken lightly, and he needed to figure out how deep it ran. He began to examine his recent actions around Prowl and the emotional tags associated with the memories. It, was very revealing. He had become increasingly protective over the Praxian, more than a best friend would be, and his smiles tended to be more genuine around him, if the tags of happiness and bliss were anything to measure by.

Then, Jazz pictured what it might be like to hold Prowl's servo and knew he was in trouble when his spark skipped.

He thought of Prowl holding him close, nuzzling his forehelm, or kissing him. His spark began to pound.

His thoughts ran away from him then as he began to imagine what it would be like to see those proud, regal doorwings spread over them as they lay together on their berth, those ice blue optics darkened and focused in pleasure. To be looked at with desire and love.

The first crackles of charge skipping over his plating jolted Jazz out of his fantasy. He dropped his datapad and scrubbed his servos over his faceplates.

He was helm over pedes for his best friend. It was a disaster and a nightmare. What was he going to do?!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Mirage was procrastinating. Not that he would admit to that, no, he was only… being patient. Yes, patient... for two vorns.

He liked the idea of being courted, but not by two strangers. Even though such practices were considered the norm in the Towers, Mirage had never agreed with it. He told Hound that he wanted to be friends before considering their suit and they consented. Mirage had expected it to be a long distance relationship since Trailbreaker was not stationed in Iacon, but a certain meddling saboteur decided that would never do. Two decacycles after Mirage's release from Medical Jazz arranged for Trailbreaker to transfer to Prowl's tactical unit.

If he was not so cross with his commander, Mirage would admit that he was impressed with the Polyhexian's machinations. The sneaky black and white had arranged for Smokescreen to become Tactical Liaison to Ops, thus freeing up space for a defensive tactician. Prowl had been hesitant to let his trine-brother go, but Jazz was a silver-glossaed devil in convincing the Praxian of the merits of such a trade. Thus, Trailbreaker found himself assigned to Iacon and within easy reach of Mirage.

Hound and Trailbreaker had been patient with him these last few vorns and he had been dragging his peds.

Well, no more. This orn he would tell them he was ready to court, and he would see if they could win his spark, at least more than they already had.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The mechling was dying and Ratchet could not save him. The third frame youngling was behaving like the living half of a severed bond, which should not be possible as Cybertronians could not bond successfully until they reached their majority, ten vorns into their adult frame.

There was a slim chance that it was some sort of unknown Praxian quirk and it was for this slim hope that he called Prowl and Smokescreen to the Medbay. Ratchet had intended to only summon Smokescreen, but after Praxus they had become inseparable. The psychologist cum tactician had submitted a request to Prime for a short vacation so he could stay by Prowl's side while he worked, since the younger Praxian refused a leave of absence, citing the greater need to create contingency plans for the rest of Cybertron's neutral cities. Optimus had approved of the request and added a note for Smokescreen to attempt to get his brother to take at least a small portion of time to grieve.

Thinking of the Unmaker's spawn seemed to make them arrive quicker as he could hear them in the main bay. Ratchet left the private room he had allotted for the mechling and greeted his guests. "Well it's about slagging time. Argnian mud sloths would have gotten here faster than you two glitches."

The matching glares he received told him that this was not the time for his usual commentary and Ratchet sighed. "My office mechs, we're going to need some privacy."

Twins sets of doorwings flared up and concerned glances were thrown in the direction of the youngling's room as the adult Praxians crossed the Medbay. They entered the office and settled into the wing-friendly visitors' chairs.

Both of them looked unsettled and Ratchet had barely made it into his own chair before Prowl broached the question. "What is wrong with him?"

The medic could see in their optics that both of them were picturing the worst of fates for the last of their frame-kin.

"His spark is failing." There, no molly-coddling, just a clean removal of the proverbial mesh-bandage. Of course Ratchet immediately regretted his abrupt reveal as his friends' whole frames seemed to droop.

"Well, it was to be expected. The chances of him surviving his wounds were astronomically low. Thank you for telling us." Prowl was trying to be strong, but his voice was wavering dangerously. Smokescreen was gripping his brother's servo like it was his last life-line. "If you will excuse us Doctor we would…"

"No Prowl, you don't understand!" Ratchet exclaimed. "His wounds are completely healed and he should be growing stronger! Instead, he grows weaker by the joor and, were he an adult, I would have sworn he was bonded! I was hoping that you might know of some sort of Praxian specific malady that would present the same characteristics."

Prowl frowned. "What are his symptoms?"

"Spark frequency fluctuations, black streaks across the corona, intermittent energon pump failure, cold sweats, bouts of overheating, and seizures."

The Praxians traded a dark look, then Smokescreen spoke. "We need to see his spark."

Ratchet huffed. "You know I can't do that. Consulting you like I am is barely legal as it is."

"Ratchet. He will deactivate if you don't." Smokescreen replied firmly.

They watched the indecision war across the CMO's faceplates. "Fine. But I want level eight seals on what you see."

He received two sets of confidentiality agreements in his message cue in lieu of an answer. He huffed at them again for their impertinence and strode out of his office without a backward glance. Prowl's pedsteps were silent as always, however, Ratchet could hear Smokescreen's and knew they were following him. They entered the private room and Ratchet sealed the door with the highest encryption he possessed. Exposing and examining a spark was not a light matter. The two Praxians knew this and offered no protests. Ratchet then began the process of overriding the mechling's chassis locks. The click of the locks disengaging had Prowl and Smokescreen leaning forward in apprehensive anticipation. The wee thing's spark would have been truly beautiful were it not for the marring black streaks the two observed silently. Their trine bond was alive with commentary as they examined the cerulean, teal, and purple soul. If Ratchet was unnerved by the silence he gave no indication of it and waited patiently until they were done. He knew when that moment came as Smokescreen's doorwings flattened and Prowl's flared high. The opposing reactions of sorrow and outrage told Ratchet that was unlikely to like what they were going to tell him and he braced himself. "Well?"

"He has been prematurely trine-bonded." Smokescreen answered and Prowl's engine growled in punctuation.

Ratchet frowned. "How can you tell?"

Smokescreen indicated to the spark. "Do you see how some of the teal and cerulean streaks are darker than others?"

"Yes, but what does his spark color have to do with anything?" Ratchet groused.

"Well, contrary to the rest of Cybertron kind, doorwingers' sparks are monochromatic, a fact that is largely unknown outside of Praxus." Smokescreen paused as that grief surfaced again. "By the time a non-Praxian doctor sees our sparks we have already bonded or trine-bonded and taken on some of our mates' colors."

"But that is two-thirds of his spark." Ratchet said numbly. "I'll never be able to restore his spark enough to overcome that. He's going to deactivate."

The Praxians nodded and Ratchet bowed his helm. Until a thought occurred to him. He frowned up at the doorwingers. "But I've seen your sparks and you don't have more than the tiniest hints of each other's colors!"

"When a sparkling or youngling is trined before their majority their developing sparks can't handle it and they develop something more along the lines of a mate bond. As they mature they leach spark energy from the other trine members and by the time they reach adulthood their spark is more the others' colors than their own. Smokescreen explained sadly.

"Wait," Ratchet exclaimed. "Why is it that you know about this and I, the CMO, have never heard of it!"

"Because it is illegal." Prowl gritted out.

Smokescreen placed a servo on his younger brother's arm guard. "I worked as a psychologist for the Praxian Enforcers before the war, and, well, the mob had the habit of using this dependency as a way of ensuring loyalty. I saw more force-trined younglings in my vorns on the force than I truly wish to contemplate."

Ratchet zeroed in on the last statement like a starving gyrofalcon. "But if you were counseling them there has to be a solution, there _has_ to be a cure."

Prowl looked at Smokescreen and a few wing twitches were exchanged. Then Prowl answered the medic. "There was a treatment available, but at this stage in the degradation the chances of it working are exceedingly low."

Now, it was Ratchet's turn to growl. "Any chance is better than none at all."

Prowl nodded. "Prematurely trined mecha would have been given a surrogate trine. The surrogates would merge with the youngling until all the old spark essence from the previous trine was gone. However, this procedure has never been attempted on a mechling whose spark was already turning black."

Ratchet sighed. "And you two are the only trined Praxians left…"

"We are willing to try Ratch." Smokescreen said hesitantly. "But we need to have your help."

"No! I cannot ask that of you. I know it would violate your moral coding." Ratchet replied.

"Ratchet, this practice is normal to us, for a given value of normal. The only part of this that bothers us is the fact that he is unable to give consent, and even then, the idea that he is deactivating because of someone else's cruelty is far more objectionable." Smokescreen stated.

Prowl confirmed his trine-brother's declaration. "We will do whatever it takes to save this, the last of our frame-kin. Even if it damns our sparks to the Unmaker."

Ratchet sighed in relief. There was no stopping his friends when they were determined about a subject. "Fine, but we are doing this my way."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

It was dark.

It was dark, and he was alone.

Where was he?

He cast about for something that would make sense of the darkness and found nothing. He was starting to panic but he calmed himself telling himself to look at what he did know.

His designation was Thing.

There was always something that felt off about that, as though he had possessed a different designation at one time, but he could not access any memories where that had been so.

He also belonged to someone, two someones. The Spiteful One and the Hurtful One. They had real designations, but he was not allowed to use them. He was supposed to call them Master, that is, when he was allowed to speak.

Thing knew he probably had memories of why he knew these things, but those memories were surrounded by bad feelings that he really did not want to touch.

He continued to look around for a reason for the darkness and, quite by accident, he brushed against one of those bad memories.

_It was a punishment. Darkness was always a punishment. He had spoken without permission again and Spiteful had locked him in the closet. The darkness was scary, but it could be much worse. If he was quiet, accepted his punishment, and apologized properly to Spiteful, then he would not tell Hurtful, who would not beat Thing._

It was during this flashback that the other two presences made themselves known. He thrashed away from them as hard as he could. It was not time to renew his trinebond! The vorn was not yet up! Had his masters come up with a new punishment? He had been attempting to run away, but maybe if he convinced them he was only trying to see the Garden then they would not punish him as harshly?

He pushed the thought of 'not running, pretty crystals' over to the other sparks and waited fretfully. If they believed him he might only get beaten.

He was therefore completely unprepared for the gentle wave of soothing reassurance.

He did not understand. They had never been nice to him before, not even once. This had to be a new trick of some sort.

_*We are not your old trine, little one.*_

Oh no, oh nonononono. Masters had given him away to someone else, someone worse just like they always threatened. Nonononono!

The wave of calm swept over him again, and then the second spark spoke. _*We will not hurt you little one, we promise. We just need you to listen to us for a moment.*_

Thing shied back even further, nothing good had ever come of opening himself willingly to his Masters. Besides, it was not like his participation mattered, the merge would go forward anyway like always.

Nothing happened.

The two other sparks just sat there waiting. Thing was confused. He edged his presence closer at an infinitesimal pace, then dashed back after the barest brush against the other sparks. Thing examined what he had picked up during that tiny transfer while also keeping a close optic on the others; it had happened before that Masters would lull him into a false sense of control only to sweep him into a harsh reliving of his worst memories. What he found in the transfers was as strange as his new Masters. Kindness, affection, protectiveness _for him_, and deep sorrow. Thing did not understand, Spiteful and Hurtful had always made it very clear that he was not worth kindness, affection was wasted upon him, and the only protection he deserved was from those who preyed upon younglings for interfacing. The idea that anyone might feel that way for him, even temporarily, was incomprehensible. He wondered if it were possible to make such rare treasures last and only hoped that his previous lack of compliance had not already ruined his chances.

Thing sidled over to the sparks and braced himself for the potential consequences of his next actions. He opened his spark and offered himself fully. _*I am yours to command Masters.*_

A peal of shock ran through the two and Thing shook in the fear that he had already caused offense. The other sparks were quick to reassure him though. _*Easy little one, you are fine. It was the term you used, nothing more. We are not your masters, you don't have any masters, and so long as we live you never will. We are your trine.*_

_*But trine is Masters.*_ Thing replied plaintively, he was so confused.

_*Oh dearspark! Is that what they told you? Nono, trine is family, brothers, best friends, but never masters.*_

_*I don't understand.*_

_*It's okay dear one, you will eventually.*_

_*Okay.*_ Thing capitulated to his Masters. It was better to pretend understanding than to show his true lack of comprehension. Less chance of ruining their good opinion of him.

_*Now then little one, the reason we are here and not your old trine is because they are… well, gone.*_

_*Gone?*_ Thing tried not to let his hope rise, just because Masters were gone right now did not mean they would not come back later.

_*Yes, there was… was…*_ the sparks became infinitely sad and Thing wanted to go make whatever was making the nice sparks sad go away forever. _*There were bad mechs, little one, who attacked the city, and now everyone is gone except for us.*_

_*Where did they go?*_

_*They went back to Primus.*_

Oh, that kind of gone. Thing knew he should feel sad that everyone was deactivated, but the joy at knowing Masters were gone forever swelled through him. The other two were understandably shocked by his reaction and Thing shrank back a little. The second spark stopped his retreat and spoke. _*Youngling, may I view your memories please?*_

Thing began to shake in fear, they were going to punish him after all!

_*Sh, sh, little bit, you do not have to observe while I look.*_ the second spark stated quickly. _*I can shield you from feeling or seeing while I am in your memories.*_

Thing sat quietly for a klik. _*You promise?*_

_*I promise.*_

_*Okay.*_

The first spark spoke to him again as the second moved further into his meta. _*While my trinebrother goes hunting why don't I tell you a little about us as a distraction in case anything slips through his control?*_

Thing nervously transmitted the equivalent of a nod. Knowing about his new trine would help keep him from irritating them, and would mean less punishments for him.

_*Okay then, where to start… Well, first, my designation is Smokescreen and my trinebrother is Prowl. We are brothers sparked not brothers made as you will be to us. Oh, and don't let that worry you, it won't matter that you are not of our spark line, we will still love you as our family. We are both soldiers in the Autobot Army. I am a psychologist and diversionary tactician while Prowl is the SIC of the whole army and the head of the Tactical Department. Because he is so highly place our dear Prowl often has to act as though he cares about nothing and no one. This is actually, in part, to protect us from the Decepticons and also to allow him to appear impartial to the rest of the troops. However, we are both very affectionate in the realm of our trinebond. If, when you wake, you ever have doubts about our intentions or actions, check the bond. We will only ever be our true selves in the bond, and I apologize ahead of the time for the discrepancies you are going to see.*_

Prowl's presence returned from the depths and to Thing he seemed even sadder than before. _*We need to complete the bond Smokey and let our youngling rest. He has a long recovery ahead of him.*_

Smokescreen sent a pulse of affirmation and the two sparks huddled closer to Thing. He surprised even himself when he let them near willingly. The tiniest pieces of their essences were traded off, not enough to bind them as mates, but just enough to make them Trine.

Thing's new trine brushed him with that unfamiliar affection again and bid him farewell. After how wonderful they had been to him he almost did not want them to leave.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Prowl and Smokescreen came up slowly from the merge and signaled to Ratchet that they were ready to be unhooked from his monitoring equipment. As the medic moved around them Smokescreen caught Prowl's attention and whispered solemnly, "What did you see?"

His answer was a single coolant tear sliding down Prowl's faceplates to land on a white servo desperately clasped around a small grey servo.

* * *

theoHIangurl: thanks for the positive feedback and welcome as a new reader to my stories!

Starfire201: I'm glad you thought it good, I remember agonizing over several portions as possible being too weak and then Jazz took over most of the chapter... However, if my readers liked it that is all that matters.

kkcliffy: high praise as always, glad to see you following this one too!

Neon: welcome new reader! So, first question you had, the 'bonding request', it is my head canon that the various city-states had their own cultures, but the Praxians, being frame cousins to Vosians, were very insular about their practices, something you will find out as this story develops. The Praxian culture revolves around crystals and different crystals, when given as gifts, signified different things. What Jazz did was give the equivalent of engagement rings, Praxian style. Second question, Blaster's bro, his identity is intended to be a bit of a mystery since he is a spy, but I will leave little clues as to who he is (he is a canon character not an OC) throughout my stories until the grand reveal in the sequel to this story's sequel. Third question, a trine with only two members, Smokey and Prowl are considered an incomplete trine since they have not found their third, but by Praxian law and culture they still refer to themselves as trine. Hope this answers all your questions adequately and don't be afraid to ask more!

Guest #1: a lemon is a gratuitous sex scene with no plot for the sole purpose of vicarious sexual gratification. It's sort of a fan-fic code word for Porn-without-Plot.

Guest #2: thanks! Hopefully I will be able to post more often in the future.

Praxian: thanks for the sentiment and hopefully I will get to post more often.


	3. Chapter 3: Blue Comes Home?

So, I have good news, better news, and best news. First, all of the delays in my posting schedule have finally been resolved by a promotion in rl of all things. Weirdly enough, despite getting better pay and more hours, the amount of work assigned to me is less than when I first started working there. Perks of position, maybe? Second, the extra time for writing is helping me to write longer, more substantial chapters while still maintaining a 1 month maximum posting time. The last, and probably best for y'all, is that this is the first of a double posting. Chapter 4 is finished and I am in the process of getting it typed up, provided all goes to plan it will be up by the end of the week.

The standard drill of read and review should be fairly well driven into your helms by now, so enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3:

Prowl gazed at the wall longingly, wondering as he did, if Ratchet would forgive him for knocking himself out with it. For Prowl was currently very done with his functioning. Now, the reason for this doneness was multifaceted. First, Jazz was plotting, and as much as Prowl had come to dearly love the annoying saboteur, he still despised it when his friend plotted. It meant that any number of the tactician's plans were about to need reworking as the chaos master meddled and toyed with the Decepticons.

Second, as though the first item were not enough to make oblivion a sore temptation, he had acquired a secret admirer. This development was disturbing to him as the gifts were those that an alpha mech would give to a beta. If Prowl had been a beta he likely would have been very flattered as most of them were very well thought out, however, he was in fact an alpha. For one alpha to court another was a great insult and implied that the courted mech was not worthy of the alpha coding. Prowl continually reminded himself that his suitor did not mean it, but it rarely pacified his coding.

However, the thing that was truly and completely making him contemplate the force vectors between his helm and the wall was in fact two things, The Twins. The two frontliners had come to Iacon in the same troop shipment as Jazz, but when it was discovered that they were possibly the last practitioners of the rare Jet Judo they were quickly shipped to a base where their skill could be used at optimum efficiency. How two Kaonites had managed to learn a Praxian martial art had never been revealed, not that Prowl cared given how jealously he guarded any recovered piece of his culture now. Unfortunately, their effectiveness was almost completely diminished half a vorn into their tenure. They had stopped visiting the medbay after battle and barricaded themselves in their berthroom. Any mech who tried to get them to come out for medical treatment ended up needing it themselves. Their extreme aggression escalated until it took half the base's MPs to force the twins to accept medical care. Thus the twins were shipped elsewhere to become somemech else's problem. Of course, once they had learned to distrust their fellow Autobots it became a recurring problem and soon no base wanted them.

However, given the scale the army, Prowl likely never would have noticed the real problem if it had not been for Jazz. Jazz's network of gossip collectors was everywhere and by the twins' third transfer the saboteur was well on his way to investigating. The secrets he turned up were not pretty and when he was sure he had enough evidence he took it to Prowl. It was perfect timing too as Prowl had been presented with the twins' discharge datawork.

-1 Vorn Ago-

_Prowl stared at his datapad in confusion. He had reread it three times and still was no closer to understanding it. For some unfathomable reason the pad seemed to be calling for the dishonorable discharge of one Sideswipe of Kaon and one Sunstreaker of Kaon, and that just could not be right. The twins had made an impression when he observed their initial bootcamp testing and he had never forgotten the unique mechs. He remembered the twins as being two of the best fighters he had ever seen and although they were a bit insular he never remembered having any disciplinary problems with them. He knew his choices in this matter were very limited; the court-martial had already taken place and the verdict given. Prowl's signature was merely a formality signifying that the datawork had been filed appropriately. To reopen the case now would be an insult to the prosecutors without reasonable cause for doing so._

_Prowl's stylus hovered over the signature line._

_Then the doorchime rang._

_Prowl scanned for spark signature automatically and found that it was Jazz. That in itself was a surprise as the one thing that Prowl had learned since meeting Jazz was that the mech did not use doorbells. He usually just waltzed in to wherever he felt like going, smelt the consequences. Not that consequences were ever served. Somehow, the opsmech always seemed to know if Prowl had company and only ever intruded when the tactician was alone. As he considered the peculiarity of this deviation in the saboteur's behavior, the doorchime rang again. Allowing his curiosity to delay his decision on the twins Prowl opened the door to his nascent friend._

_The Polyhexian who appeared in the portal was so serious that he hardly resembled the happy-go-lucky Jazz that Prowl had come to know. Prowl arched an optic ridge and motioned to his visitor's chair. Jazz sat and susbspaced two datapads, one of which he served off to Prowl._

_"__So, half a vorn ago one o' mah informants came ta meh wit' some strange happenin's that Ah think ya might want ta kno' about." Jazz began. "Now Ah kno' yah kno' tha' when Megatron put forth his true goal o' global dom'nation tha' tha Autobots saw a large influx in tha inlistment numbahs. Tha mecha tha' joined us did so fo' a pleth'ra o' reasons, not all o' which were noble or hon'rable. Since tha' time Ops has taken it upon themselves ta quietleh weed out tha chaff. We did this b'cuz if tha 'Cons were goin' ta reject rapists, psychopaths, n' sadists, though we both kno' tha policy on tha latter two has changed consid'rably, then so should we. Our methods fo' dealin' wit' these mecha vary from case ta case, as ya saw in tha mishap tha' befell tha torturers o' Blastah's littles. Now, recently a new type o' criminal mecha has been brought ta our attentions, thanks ta tha aforementioned Blastah, the spark fanatics. Mos' o' these mechs believe tha those who are Allspark Blessed or Vector Sigma Blessed are abberations ta be shunned from normal societeh. There is however, ah third prej'dice, n' as ya c'n see from tha evidence on ya datapad, this other group is in fact tha mos' dang'rous."_

_Prowl looked down and read through the report. It was very comprehensive. The first section was a security camera video file, it depicted a minibot medic hunched over the golden chassis of a familiar frontliner. The video switched to another camera to show a better angle. From the new vantage point Prowl could clearly see that the medic was not repairing the frontliner, but was instead using a laser scalpel to make nearly unnoticeable slits in the mech's primary energon lines leading into his spark. This attempted murder did not last long however, as the medic was tackled by a red blur. The blur devolved into Sideswipe, who began to summarily pound the would-be murderer into a sparking pulp. This continued for only a few kliks as the medic had sent out a distress call. The security detail that poured into Medical ripped Sideswipe off, but not before he sent the medic into stasis. The CMO entered on the heels of the security mechs and ordered the incoherently raging frontliner to be brigged. After Sideswipe's removal the heavy-plated doctor called for another medic to tend to the unconscious one while he finished up Sunstreaker. The CMO assumed that his staff member was sealing up the tiny leaks around the golden mech's spark and set about undoing the murderer's work._

_The video ended and Prowl moved on to the attached notes. They reported that the second camera's footage had been erased, albeit poorly, from the base's files just prior to the investigation into why Sideswipe had attacked the medic. With only the first camera's testimony it had been ruled that Sideswipe had been reacting to his twin's subconscious pain, gone temporarily insane, and attacked the surgeon who was trying to save his brother's spark. A note was placed in their file that both twins had to be in stasis if one was being operated on for future safety. The report fuller detailed that it was not just the medic involved in this charade, but at least six other anti-twin mecha had been identified in this one base. The base had a history of 'accidentally' losing mecha with blessed gifts and non-standard spark traits._

_Prowl looked up at Jazz in horror._

_"__Yup mech, this's what sta'ted it all." Jazz answered. "Now, Ah know mos' o' tha armeh woul' say tha' doesn' excuse the twinnies latah actions, but ta be frank Prowler, we're not'a real armeh. We're ah militia o' civilians."_

_Prowl frowned slightly. "An army of civilians is still an army, and the twins signed up to function under our rules just like every other Autobot."_

_"__Yeah, they did." Jazz replied, then he arched an expectant optic ridge at the SIC._

_Prowl's frown deepened, Jazz was trying to tell him something, but, as usual, was being obtuse about it. It was typical of their communication with one another. Jazz would give him hints and facts until Prowl came to the conclusion the saboteur wanted. It was irritating, but the process of puzzling Jazz's messages out often yield better, more innovative solutions than what Prowl could come up with on his own._

_So the contemplation began. Prowl knew, that Jazz knew, that these spark fanatics would not be permitted to continue their reign of terror, so the problem the Polyhexian was setting before him was how to save the twins. Jazz had agreed that the twins were bound by the Autobot Code, so the solution had to be there._

_According to the regulations the twins were responsible for their own actions. And then the lightbulb clicked on in Prowl's meta, what were the frontliners' actions? According to the court martial it was insubordination and unprovoked violence, however, in light of the hidden evidence their actions could be considered self-defense. There would be argument that their later actions were not admissible as self-defense, but the first incident had set a precedent for the twins that dictated their response to future events. Under the new classification, the most the Kaonites could be charged with was excessive violence in the line of defense. They would be required to complete an aggression management course with the Psychology Department, but they would be exonerated of everything else. The fanatics on the other servo would be revealed and prosecuted in full view of all of Cybertron, Prowl would make sure the Decepticons received a leaked copy of the trial, and hopefully it would relay a message as to the reward to those fanatics still unknown._

_Prowl looked at Jazz, who was smirking broadly. "You are irritating."_

_"__Figured out ah way ta save our mechs didja?" Jazz replied smugly._

_Prowl rolled his optics. "Tell me more about the spark fanatics."_

_"__Well," the saboteur began. "they believe tha' twins are creations o' Unicron meant ta spy upon n' destroy Primus' perfect creations. They also believe tha' glitches are abominations cursed by Primus. As ya c'n confirm wit' tha data on ya pad, at least twelve deactivations c'n be attr'buted ta this group. Each o' tha victims deactivated from complications n' infections post-surgery after havin' had this medic as their surgeon. Now, Ah know mos' would say tha' it was jus' coincidence, but these are tha onleh mechs he eva' lost. Couple tha' wit' tha video n' ya have some pretty strong evidence."_

_Prowl looked at the pad and confirmed that the deactivations of two empaths, a telepath, five glitched mechs, and a hive-mind quaterne were confirmed to have been deactivated by this groups and a score or more were suspected to be their servo-work. "I agree. Tell the twins to come to Iacon. I want to reopen their case."_

-Present Orn-

The twins had been reluctant to trust either of them, but after Jazz showed them the evidence he had gathered they agreed to give the Autobots one more chance. Prime had given them a full pardon and even allowed them to participate in the mech hunt for the sparkcraft fanatics. Of course, they managed to get injured in the final capture which necessitated a trip to the Medbay. The ensuing showdown between the twins and Ratchet was, as Jazz would put it, epic. It was still spoken of with reverence in the rec-rooms on occasion. The interesting side-effect of Ratchet's 'don't give a frag' attitude when it came to dangerous patients resulted in the medic gaining two very protective bodyguards. The twins knew a good thing when they saw it and they had no intentions of letting _their_ medic deactivate on them.

Now, however, with their permanent stationing in Iacon, the twins were bored. Because of this they often went on pranking sprees and ended up in Prowl's office for disciplinary measures. It was easy to see why their former Cos did not like them, as they always sprawled across his visitors' chairs like they owned them and replied to his corrections with sass or flippant remarks. He came down on them harder for that until Jazz pulled him aside to explain that Kaonites only behaved like that around mecha they liked and respected, otherwise they would have been surly and silent.

It had become one of the strangest friendships he had ever possessed and normally he appreciated their efforts to raise moral. Unfortunately, his emotions were still running high as he grieved and the twins' latest prank on the minibot barracks was almost the wire breaking the chronosteed's back. They were due in his office in a few kliks and Prowl was going to have to try _really_ hard not to take his anger, at everything, out on them.

Mirage strode swiftly towards the Eastern Commissary for first meal. He was walking uncloaked for once thanks to a challenge from Hound to try to make himself more accessible to others. It was not nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be, though Mirage still longed for the protection his invisibility offered him from his detractors. He had informed the pair of his acceptance of their courtship, something they had been ecstatic to hear, but Mirage still had reservations about it. Mirage abhorred the loveless bonds of the Towers, but he had always looked forward to the art form that was a Tower's courtship. No one courted the way the Towers did, though the Praxians came close, and it felt like a piece of his spark was dying whenever he thought about not having that experience. He knew his courtiers would try in their own quaint way, but it was just not going to be the same.

As Mirage walked into the commissary he took a deep in-vent and let go of his impossible dream. To distract himself he analyzed the room's occupants in a mock ops assessment.

There was a pack of minibots being loud in the corner. They appeared to be celebrating somemech's orn of unfurling. A nanokliks watchfulness confirmed that it was the new mech, Cliffjumper, if Mirage remembered right, that was the patron of honor.

Eighteen ops mecha, always count them, always, were playing 'normal' at various tables around the room. Mirage would have to check with his commander later to see if it was just practice or if there was a risk assessment being performed; eighteen was twelve too many.

Optimus Prime had come out to socialize with the regular soldiers. Ironhide was grumping in the chair next to Prime, because his friend and charge was exposing himself to potential danger, again.

Jazz was sitting with the Prime, but was grinning like a loon at something in the corner. Hound and Trailbreaker's regular table was over there, so perhaps his unit commander intended to tease him over his new suitors.

Hound and Trailbreaker were indeed at their table and Hound was painted white.

Mirage did a double-take. The scout's dusty green armor had been cleaned and polished until it shone in a rich olive color. Overlaid on that was white filigree in the exact shade of Mirage's own plating. Interspersed in the lace-like patterns in the lace-like patterns were glyphs. Even from this distance the noble could see the glyphs for affection, friend, beloved, and valued. A swathe of blue next to Hound had Mirage looking over to his other suitor. Trailbreaker had taken on a geometric pattern in Mirage-blue and it contrasted tantalizingly with his glossy black finish. The glyphs in Trailbreaker's patterns were more difficult, however, Mirage could still see beautiful, intelligent, cunning, beloved, and protected mixed into the patterns. The decoration that really made his spark skip was the halves of his designation placed directly over their sparks. To the spy they looked like Primusian warriors from the age of Vector Prime.

How these two marvelous backcountry mecha found out the courting methods of the Towers Mirage did not know, but this was a perfectly executed opening overture. The noble felt completely humbled and overwhelmed, a sensation that increased when they caught sight of him frozen just inside the doorway.

He found himself returning their brilliant smiles with a shy one of his own. How had he gotten so lucky?

Smokescreen slipped into his brother's office quietly and stood watching him while he worked, the mech being so preoccupied he did not notice his sudden company. It was no surprise to Smokescreen that most mecha thought Prowl was the older brother, despite their actual emergence order, due to the black and white's work tendencies and Smokescreen's less responsible lifestyle. This orn however, it was time for Prowl to stop pretending and let his older brother take some of his burdens from him. To that end the blue and red Praxian cleared his vocalizer. Prowl's helm shot up and he stared uncomprehendingly at his brother before smoothing his faceplates to neutral.

"Yes? How may I help you?"

"Yeah, you can unblock the bond and stop trying to hold everything in." Smokescreen replied with a frown.

Prowl never wavered. "I confess that I am unaware to what you are referring to, and as I am very busy, I do not have the time to puzzle out your meaning. Therefore, unless you have some actual business to discuss I will bid you a good dark-cycle Lieutenant."

_Oh, that is it!_ Smokescreen thought. He flared his doorwings in a rare display of anger and stomped around his brother's desk. He watched Prowl brace himself as if for a blow, but Smokescreen would never strike his brother in anger. He might contemplate bending him over his knee and spanking him like a sparkling, however, he would never follow through on it. Smokescreen held his glare on the black and white just long enough to unsettle Prowl, then swiftly wrapped the stiff Praxian in a tight hug.

"Now you listen up, right here, right now. There is no rank, no military hierarchy here. Only me, the big brother, and you the little brother. And my little brother is _going_ to tell me what he saw in our new trine-brother's memories or the next time I merge with him I'll go looking myself!"

Prowl slumped in Smokescreen's arms. "They, beat him Smokey. If he stood wrong, spoke at all, played without permission, and sometimes just because, they beat him. If they were feeling generous they would lock him into a closet for an orn instead. The punishments were growing worse as he grew older, and… eventually I just could not watch anymore. They demechanized him by calling him 'Thing', and erased his real designation so he would not be able to resist their cruelty, even in his helm. How he has survived with any kind of sense of self left is a miracle."

Prowl looked up with venom. "I do not blame him at all for rejoicing over Praxus' destruction, there have been moments where I wished those two vermin were still functioning so I could terminate them myself."

Smokescreen snuggled him closer and listened carefully to his brother's EM field. It was wretched with its sorrow on their trine-brother's behalf, but underneath that was something dark, almost undefinable in its depth.

"This has brought back memories of Sentinel, hasn't it." Smokey stated quietly.

Prowl flinched violently and tried to pull away. However, when the blue and red Praxian's arms merely tightened protectively he wilted further into their comfort. "You would think I would be over that by now."

Smokescreen sighed. "Wax-On always told you that you might have flashbacks and relapses from time to time."

"Wax-On is not around to help me anymore." The black and white replied dully.

"But I'm here?" Smokescreen said as he tried to figure out Prowl's odd mood. It became clear when Prowl turned away from him.

"Prowl," Smokescreen said, and gently touched the other's chin to make him turn back. "When you finally escaped, and came to me, what did I tell you?"

"That time would dull my wounds and make it less painful to think about." The younger Praxian said, refusing to make optic contact, even as he made sure not to break his brother's hold.

Smokey leaned in closer with a mock frown. "And what else?"

"That therapy would help."

Smokescreen pinched Prowl's chin. "And?"

Prowl gave up. "That you would help me through it."

"Precisely. And that support did not go away just because Wax-On declared you healed. I will always be there for you no matter what, even for things that you think are insignificant or that you feel you should have gotten over. Always, always, always. That is how long I will be your support. However, I can't be your help unless you tell me when you are hurting!"

Prowl nodded.

"So, are you going to try to keep something like that from me again?"

Prowl shook his helm.

"Good, now tell me what empties have reared their helms."

Prowl sighed and began.

* * *

Mysine: thanks for holding out for so long, hopefully this chapter was not to long in coming for you.

Guest: thanks, I do try to make my world's seem believable, if a bit unintendedly dystopian at times. Yeah, Blue is traumatized, but I think he will make it.

Every1's Beta: Sadly, Blue is not a chatterbox yet, but it will come. I am trying not to change his character, but since everyone else always goes with the traumatized by Praxus' Fall I wanted to attempt something else. Since you can still recognize him as Blue, I will take the attempt to currently be a success. I am glad you are a fan of the slow-burn, I am too (although I am sorta being Captain Obvious by saying that). The romance in this one will be slightly faster paced since the groundwork has been laid in the interim between SAF and Tolling Bells, so enjoy the slow cruise as we move along.

Neon: I'm glad you came back, you have been one of my more straight-forward reviewers, but I like that because it makes your questions easy to answer. No, Bluestreak will not be blue, the only story I have ever read where I liked him having actual blue parts was a short story that made the blue streaks only visible in moonlight (so totally romantic), so no worries there on that. You're welcome for the info on the brother thing, I wish I could tell you more, but the plot of about two stories depends on his secrecy. Blue has been living like this for a while, but he did have a normal family once upon a time. His masters were real sick pieces of work, and there were reasons *author flips furiously through the story outline to see which chapter the explanation was placed in*. I think the explanation is in either chapter 4 or 5, I cannot remember off the top of my helm. The story is supposed to be centered around Bluestreak with a side-dish of Prowl and Jazz finally getting together, but as usual my muse flipped everything around and it is currently centered around Jazz and Mirage's respective romances with a side of Blue.


	4. Chapter 4: Progress is Slow

So, now that it is weeks later than I promised this would be up... I fail at deadlines.

Anyway, Warnings: as should be expected by now, hints of past abuse, mech x mech relationships, and hints at possible underage marriage (due to cultural misunderstanding).

And, now, read and enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4:

Thing swam around in the aether, toodling about until his trine came to visit again. He was trying very hard not to like his new trine because he knew that all the sweetness and kindness would not last long past his emergence from frame stasis. That orn was fast approaching too, as Smokey had told Thing that his lucid moments at the spark level were getting longer, a sign to the medics that it was almost time to wake up. Thing was really sad about that upcoming orn because it signified the end of the adventure stories, the retelling of epic pranks, and the affectionate cuddles, especially the cuddles. Thing sighed to himself, he often dreamed of what it would be like to be snuggled by Prowl in the real world, but he always crushed those dreams before they went too far, they felt too much like hope. It was foolish to hope.

Thing felt a nudge against his awareness that he had come to associate with the approach of his trine-brothers. He was surprised to feel both of their presences this orn. Prowl had a very busy schedule and could often not come at the same time as Smokey. Thing held himself back from rushing up to them out of ingrained caution; he was still trying to squash that pesky hope before it broke him. Thing's trine held no such reservation though, and as soon as they were sure he had noticed them, they slipped over to nuzzle him, one on each side. Thing tried not to give in to the warm fuzzy feeling of safety but he was losing that battle a little more every time it happened.

The three sparks sat there in silence until the bond was re-strengthened, then Smokey nudged him. "Good news bitling!"

Good news was never good for Thing and in his resultant apprehension he probably left Smokey hanging too long before answering timidly. "What?"

Smokey drooped at the obvious hesitation but pushed onward cheerfully anyway. "Ratchet said you get to wake up this orn!"

Thing blanked out his emotions. He _could not_ let them feel his panic. He knew that it was a good thing, for them, because they would no longer have to put so much effort into pretending to be nice to him. Thing did not want to go back to that horrible farce of a functioning, but resisting his spark's hope was getting to hard to do.

Thing schooled his emotions and replied enthusiastically. "That's awesome!"

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Prowl slowly came back to himself and glanced at his brother. "Did you feel him there at the end?"

Smokescreen nodded forlornly. "He still believes we will hurt him."

Prowl looked down at their trine-brother. "What do we do?"

"We start small." Smokescreen replied determinedly. "and we don't give up, no matter what."

Prowl reached out to stroke the grey mechling's cheek strut. "Never."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Jazz waltzed into Prowl's office with the intent to make the mech take a break; the Praxian was working twice as much in his grieving and was going to collapse. However, when the saboteur entered he saw that Prowl was slumped over his desk with his helm pillowed on his arms. Jazz immediately silenced his pedsteps and crept around the desk. If he allowed Prowl to recharge in that position he would wake with several stiff and painful linkages, therefore, it would be best to move him. Jazz knew he had enough strength to carry Prowl to the mech's quarters, but it would raise far too many questions. The couch in Jazz's office however, could easily be reached without anymech seeing the Praxian, and was comfortable enough to serve as a temporary berth.

Just as the Polyhexian was about to touch his friend's shoulder pauldron to begin moving he heard a tiny whimper. He leaned down to see if Prowl was alright and saw the dim blue reflection of lit optics in the desk surface.

"Prowler," Jazz called softly. "Are ya alright?"

Prowl shot up like someone had electrocuted him. "Jazz! What are you doing in here?!"

The Praxian's outraged exclamation was suspiciously defensive and Jazz narrowed his visor. He soothed a servo over an agitated shoulder, not the flicking doorwing that he really wanted to stroke, and explained in a gentle tone. "Ah was comin' ta see if ya wan'ed ta take an ene'gon break wit' meh, but Ah thought Ah'd caught ya sleepin' at ya desk n' was gonna move ya ta someplace mo' comf'table. Ah heard ya whimper, ya okay Prowler?"

"I am fine Jazz, I was merely resting my optics." Prowl replied neutrally.

Jazz's visor narrowed even more. "Ya whimpered."

Prowl looked away. "I was yawning."

The Polyhexian leaned his hip against the desk in a subtle gesture of how Prowl was _not_ getting out of this. "Ya kno' Prowler, Ah considered us ta be friends, close friends, n' friends don' _lie_ ta each otha'. Mah audials'r tha best in all o' Cybertron, n' Ah kno' wha' Ah heard. Ya mah dearest friend Prowler n' if som'at is hurtin' ya Ah can' jus' stand by n' watch ya hurt."

Prowl stared at Jazz for a long time, and the saboteur could see the war going on behind the Praxian's optics as he decided if he felt comfortable sharing with Jazz. He finally nodded in agreement and spoke in a hushed tone. "The problem does not lie with myself alone but with my trinebrother."

Jazz's sensor horns flicked forward in concern. "Is Smokey okay?"

Prowl shook his helm. "The problem is not Smokey, it is the new member of our trine."

Jazz felt his spark sink. "New trine member?" He asked weakly.

"Yes," Prowl nodded. "The youngling we recovered from… from the wreckage, he had been prematurely trined and the only way to save him was to give him a new trine."

"That's allowed in Praxus?!" Jazz responded in shock.

"No, it most certainly is not." Prowl would have been offended, but he knew Polyhex was not nearly as safe as Praxus. "Only the worst of the criminal element did so, it was a way of ensuring loyalty from victims of protection rackets by taking their younglings for trine slaves. The treatment of the youngling was dependent upon how well the family paid the mob."

"Oh, Ah see." Jazz understood, he really did. A part of him had been concerned about why Prowl thought it was acceptable to take a youngling as a mate, but given the circumstances, Jazz felt that it was justified. The only problem now was how to ignore his breaking spark long enough to help the Praxian through his obvious troubles. "So, wha's tha problem Prowler, ya should be happy ya saved him."

Prowl slumped. "His first trine were particularly low scum and took great pride in torturing and demechanizing him. They called him an it and referred to him as 'Thing' to the point where he believes Thing is his real designation. He is so traumatized that I do not know where to start to begin helping him!"

Jazz laid a servo on the clenched fist Prowl had made on the desk. "Ya start wit' lil things tha' ta him'll seem like big things, like his name. Mechs who are traumatized like tha' tend ta test things repeatedly until they're absolutely sure tha' it's real. Tha' means tha' when ya tell him somethin' ya better mean it, n' mos' importantly, ya gotta be completeleh consistent wit' him, no sudden changes in ya routine."

Prowl looked at Jazz gratefully. "I, can do that. But will it really work?"

"Yes. It'll take time, lotsa time, n' ya might have some 'ccasions where he backslides, but 'ventually he will learn ta trust ya."

Prowl nodded. "It sounds like you are speaking from personal experience."

Jazz shrugged. "Ah once had a brotha', n' Polyhex wasn' always tha safest place."

"I see, I am sorry to have brought up unpleasant memories for you." Prowl understood, but it was too raw a wound to share, even after so many vorn. Perhaps some orn he would have healed to enough to speak of it commonly as Jazz did his.

Jazz clapped Prowl's shoulder pauldron. "Nothin' ta 'pologize fo'. Now, if ya'll excuse meh, Ah gotta go see a mech about a cassette."

Prowl's lipplates twitched in a tiny, very deniable smile. "Farewell Jazz, and thank you."

Jazz skipped merrily out of the office, and then the department's wing, only stopping to slump in broken-sparked despair when he was two corridors away. Prowl was lost to him.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

If Mirage had not been a noble of the highest order he would have been vibrating in his plating by now. After a few decacycles of their paint display Hound and Trailbreaker had reverted to their old paint schemes with the exception of some fine highlighting on their helms. Mirage was so flattered by this that he made no objections when they did not immediately do anything else. This orn however, his two suitors had strongly suggested that he not dawdle in getting back to his quarters after his shift. If it would not have been such bad form he would have abandoned his post to rush back to his room, but Mirage was a gentlemechs who honored his commitments even when they were inconveniences. As soon as he was off-shift was a completely different matter though. Mirage was so excited to see what his suitors had left for him that he chose to forgo getting his dark-cycle meal.

When he did reach his quarters it took him three tries to punch in the code so badly were his fingers trembling. Finally it pinged acceptance and he rushed in. It was most disappointing, therefore when he did not see any obvious differences to his quarters. Mirage searched for a few kliks but did not find anything. There was no way that Hound and Trailbreaker would be so cruel as to have made a joke of this, so Mirage just had to figure out where they had hidden his gift. It finally occurred to him that it was likely cloaked in a hologram. Unfortunately, unlike normal holograms those that Hound created for semi-permanent use were nearly impossible to detect by the usual methods. Fortunately for Mirage he understood well that holograms were nothing more than highly manipulated fields of light, which was very similar to the workings of his phase disruptor. So, now knowing how devious his suitors were being, Mirage activated his cloak. He extended it out as far as it would go and began to search anew.

He finally found it masquerading as his bookend when the field of his cloak disturbed the holographic field. It was an egg shaped hollow obelisk with a plain clear crystal inside. The sides of the oval obelisk were steelglass so as to not obstruct the view of the crystal, but the crystal was cut in such a manner that it could not be seen when looking directly at it. Mirage looked at it from every angle trying to see what was so special about it that Hound and Trailbreaker thought it would in any way make a good gift.

Mirage was just about ready to sit down and cry when a ping came from his door. According to his scanners it was the two mecha he did not want to see at the moment. He slammed open the door as fast as a hydraulic, automated sliding door could go, which was far slower and less satisfying than Mirage wanted it to be. He was ready to ream out both of them for their cruelty, but one look at their excited faces had him deflating like a bad tire. They truly thought they had done well, and perhaps for wildsmecha they had. This, to his own surprise, had Mirage swiftly deciding that it was the thought that counted. He was just stirring himself up to thank them for the unprepossessing gift when Hound's faceplates scrunched into a frown and he reached forward to grab the noble's elbow. "You didn't understand the gift did you?"

What was there to understand, Mirage thought, it was a plain crystal. Hound took his silence as the confirmation it was and he gently guided Mirage in to his berth with Trailbreaker following.

"Let us explain." The black mech said taking a seat in the noble's desk chair.

Mirage just looked at them, ready to nod in the appropriate places. Hound sighed and picked up the obelisk. "The first gift given in courtship is meant to be a representation of the aspects the courtiers appreciate most in the courted. That is perfectly embodied by this. When mecha look at you they see one of two things, they see that you are a noble, a mech gilded and put on a pedestal who is really no more special than your average mech…"

"Or," Trailbreaker took over. "they see your mods and see a mech to be used for their own ends, honorable or otherwise."

Mirage was ready to cry, the mechs who were to be his bondeds saw him as plain and as only having value for his spark-gift.

"That however, is not what we see." Trailbreaker continued.

Hound placed the egg shape on the ground. "While we see what everymech else does, we know that it is nothing more than a shield to protect what is hiding underneath." The scout pressed a hidden button on the side and the glass sides flipped out and down to raise the obelisk frame onto a pedestal base.

The newly unshielded crystal glittered with light and color, and Mirage could not help gasping at the sight. It was so beautiful; Mirage had never seen anything like. It had no internal power source yet it glowed brighter than the overhead lights and the colors were not merely reflections, no they were the result of the internal light refracting through the different parts of the crystal. Mirage was mesmerized and likely would have missed the rest of Hound's statement of Trailbreaker had not brushed a servo softly down the spy's forearm guard.

Hound smiled softly when Mirage looked up startled from his reverie and continued. "We see an amazing mech, who is kind, tendersparked, a mech who listens to his friends' troubles and does not judge them. A mech who stands willingly in defense of others, who loves fiercely, has a mischievous streak worthy of one of the twins but with far more practice covering his tracks. A mech brilliant enough to outfox Megatron's best, but humble enough not to boast about it."

"We see a mech with so many amazing qualities that it would take us decacycles to list them all. You are unique and that is why we chose this, the rarest of types of crystal, to express how we see you." Trailbreaker finished.

Mirage looked down, trying futilely to wipe away the coolant streaming down his faceplates. He tried to open his mouth to thank them for the astonishingly insightful gift, but no words escaped. No one had ever said such wonderful things about him, never complimented him with such strong conviction that it was all true. He was so used to back-stabbing, veiled insults, and games of power that he had thought the worst of his suitors. It was refreshing, and freeing to have such open admiration and honesty gifted to him. It was this more than the compliments that made him cry. Being able to be himself and finding acceptance would never have been a consideration in the bonding that would have awaited him in the Towers. It was such a relief.

His two suitors moved to sit beside him and snuggled him between their larger chassis'.

"We love you." They said.

Mirage shook between them. He loved them too, and it terrified him.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

HUD ONLINE - 100%

SYSTEMS BOOTUP IN PROGRESS -

PLEASE STAND BY…

Thing watched with dread as the medic-supervised reboot slowly brought him closer to the land of the functioning. It felt a little strange to be able to sense his frame after so long as just a spark, but the complete lack of pain was an amazing thing to feel.

AUDIALS ONLINE - 100%

Now that his audials were online he could hear a gruff but gentle voice cajoling him along. "That's it little mech, nice and easy. Don't rush the bootcycle, let it happen naturally."

The voice was unfamiliar, but it rang with the presence of the medic that had been entering his processors to fix damages left over from Praxus. While Thing had been unable to access his processors to directly monitor the medic he had been just aware enough to be a peripheral presence. The medic had always been gentle and for this reason Thing filed the voice's owner under 'Friendly-Safe.'

OPTICS ONLINE - 100%...

OPTICAL OVERRIDE - MEDICAL CODES ACCEPTED - OPTICAL FEED REDUCED - 30%

The reduced ability to see frightened Thing, until his optics lit up and the overhead lights blinded even his reduced vision. When his optics finally adjusted he could see a broad red and white medical frame peering down at him with intense optics. "Hello there bitlet. Welcome back to functioning. I am Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, and if you will be a good mechling for just a little longer I'll have you up and moving in no time."

The intense optics twinkled at Thing and he grinned, or would have if his fine motor controls been online. He _liked_ this medic and hoped that his masters would let him visit Ratchet after he had proved he could be a good mechling. Speaking of whom, his trinebrothers were not in the room. Where were they? Had they abandoned him already?"

Ratchet noticed his frantic glances and rubbed a gentle servo over the mechling's helm. "I haven't told your trine that I was waking you up yet because I wanted to make sure everything was going to smoothly. I am coming them now to come see you through the rest of the reboot, so don't worry, they haven't left you alone."

That was not actually very reassuring to Thing, but the medic was being so nice, so the mechling let him live in his ignorance. He patiently sat through the rest of the boot cycle, enjoying the last bit of peace before he was turned over to his new masters. Just as the last of his motor relays came online two doorwinged mecha came through the door. The taller of the Praxians was a stern looking black and white that immediately made Thing feel afraid; of course, the second Praxian's easy smile and rolling gait did not inspire much confidence either. They resembled his old masters' boss and that mech's gambling 'enforcer.' Thing slicked down his plating in appropriate submission and waited for them to address him.

The black and white eased forward and, with gentleness that Thing attributed to the medic's presence, grasped his servo. "Hello little one, I am Prowl." The mech said with surprising warmth. "Has Ratchet adequately cared for your needs?"

Thing nodded.

The blue Praxian, who had to be Smokescreen, tweaked his ped. "It is okay to speak if you want to bitlet, we will never punish you for speaking."

Thing did not believe it, but meekly said, "Ok" anyway.

Then the elders of his trine were being shoo-ed back by Ratchet so the medic could walk Thing around the Medbay and assess the youngling's stability. When he was finally given a clean bill of health Prowl reached out a servo to him.

"Come, it is time to show you your new home."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The walk home had been telling, Smokescreen thought, very indicative of the work he and Prowl had ahead of them. Despite Smokey's cheerful tour and Prowl's murmured encouragements, the mechling had never once let his plating relax, nor had he spoken more than three words the whole walk.

Now they were in their new quarters settling their third into his room, which was not going much better than the base tour. The quarters were relatively new to all three mechs as both Prowl and Smokey had decided it would be best to give up their bachelor quarters and apply for a family suite on the second level of the Officers' Wing. One thing that noted, and he could not tell if it was a good reaction or a bad one, was that the mechling was very surprised to have his own room. It would take further study and hopefully, if they treaded carefully, the bitlet would warm up to them.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Prowl sat the little gray youngling down on the new couch and knelt in front of him. "Now that you are acquainted with our new home we need to establish the house rules."

The mechling cringed in fear and remained submissively silent. Prowl reached up and delicately took the little one's servos in his own. "The first rule is that neither Smokescreen nor I will ever beat you or strike you, in punishment or otherwise. On this I give you my solemn word as a Praxian."

The mechling gasped, even he knew how serious that oath was. To give your word as a Praxian meant that if you broke your promise your wings would be ripped off and your citizenship revoked. The mechling did not rejoice however, it was only the three of them present, with no witnesses Master Prowl could merely claim that Thing had misheard.

"The second rule is that no one in this trine is to be demeaned or treated as less, be that in speech, actions, or thoughts. And that begins with our designations." Prowl continued in a firm, but gentle tone. "We saw what _they_ called you, the non-designation _they_ gave you to objectify you. We would give you a proper designation befitting a valued member of our trine. Would you permit this?"

The mechling had no response, nor did he have any idea how to form one. Giving him a designation made him special, why would they offer such an unattainable reward to him?... Unless it was removable? Maybe they intended to give him a designation for public purposes, but take it away when they felt he had misbehaved. It was a plausible reason and even though this new form of hurting him was already painful to think about, Thing nodded. Prowl smiled openly. "Then we shall call you Bluestreak. It is High Vosian for 'Unexpected Gift'."

'Bluestreak' barely registered the remainder of the house rules. His designation was so beautiful, he loved it already. He did not understand the reason for the depth of attachment to a designation he had only possessed for two kliks, but he did understand that the loss he would feel when it was taken from him would be far greater than he previously anticipated. It likely would have been less painful to insult his new masters by rejecting the giving of his designation.

When the rules were finished it was declared to be berthtime and both elder Praxians took great car to tuck Bluestreak/Thing in comfortably before bidding him a peaceful recharge. Bluestreak/Thing laid awake for a long time, mulling over what had happened in the short time period after the Medbay, and finally decided that the only way to find a base-line for his masters' expectations was to break their rules. It would be hard, it would be tantamount to damaging himself, but he had to know their true colors. He could not live in this hope-filled limbo anymore.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Jazz moped down the corridor not paying attention to his surroundings as he had since hearing Prowl had filled the last spot in his trine. It registered dimly that he was somewhere near the Medical Wing and he wondered if it was possible for Ratchet to temporarily delete his emotions. Just long enough for Jazz to get over Prowl, which should only take a couple hundred millennia, no biggie.

His despondent attitude meant that he never noticed when a door to his left opened and a shadowed arm reached out toward him. Jazz did not register anything until the servo attached to the arm snagged his shoulder to yank him back into the darkness, and by then it was too late.

* * *

Tamersten: I'm so glad you like it so far! As you can see Blue has finally gotten his name, I chose for it to have another meaning though because he doesn't talk yet, and personal headcannon dictates that his name only gets translated as 'speaking fast' in English.

Every1's Beta: yes, definitely an introvert, though if the outline holds true we should see some emergence from the shell in a couple chapters. Your guess on Blue's age is accurate, there will be such a scene (though maybe not til close to the end) with Blue shocking the proverbial socks off some poor mech (I'm debating making it Prime), and yes we will see at least his next frame upgrade before the end of the story. Some slight improvement in the JxP situation is coming next chapter, it will be extra slow just for you *wink*.

theoHIangurl: sorry about the formatting problem, I'll try changing the way I present flashbacks for easier reading. Miniharem? *snerk* That is an awesome description.

BookLovingPersonR.B.L: ah, then I succeeded, the feels were definitely the target. =)

Raindrop: 2am! Goodness, I hope you got some adequate sleep! Did you stay up just to finish the story?(author is very flattered if you did.)

guest: Solar Spark Verse is simply the designation I am giving to this particular set of stories so that people can determine which belong to this universe and which are not. The meaning behind it is related to something that will happen in the distant future.

Neon: Hopefully this chapter is less chaotic and more streamline. Ah, you are referencing 'The Replacements', yes Sentinel is the antagonist (despite being dead) in that story. He manipulated, blackmailed, and coerced his way through a 'relationship' with Prowl that started consensual and quickly became noncon. Prowl lived under that for so many vorns that even 2-3 decavorns later, with copious counseling, he still has flashbacks to those orns. The twins will have a more important role than I cannot spoil yet. The time between ch 2 and 3 is about 2 decacycles-ish.


	5. Chapter 5: Learning and Adventure

Alrighty folks, here we are again in October. For those of you who remember from the last 2 years, next month is NA-NO-WRI-MO and I will be participating in it. Therefore, there will be no posts to any of my stories until December. That said, Please enjoy this post that I delayed to the last minute to post so that ya'll would have minimum waiting time until the next post.

Warnings: unintentional emotional trauma to a youngling?

Please enjoy, rate and review.

* * *

Chapter 5:

According to legend the badlands of Cybertron were once the most beautiful sectors of Primus' transformed frame. As the stories told it, there were once sprawling cities of Cybertronians who lived off of wells of emerging that sprung up from Primus himself. The mechs who lived there focused on peaceful functioning and the arts, which was reflected in the surrounding architecture, were highly prized. It was said that the Quintesson invaders destroyed these icons of Cybertronian living first, to demoralize the rest of their conquered slaves.

Now nothing remained but rusted cliffs and metal outcroppings so eroded by time that identification would be impossible.

All of this Laserbeak considered as he soared high above the wastes, scouting diligently for the Decepticon transports that followed him. Lord Megatron had called for the army's ground troops for his next offensive. The warlord's recent victory against Praxus had been the beginning of a much larger campaign to bring the Autobots to heel, an orn the Decepticons were eager to see.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Jazz was lost in the labyrinth. He thought he might have taken a wrong turn at the abandoned Alba Circuitry shop, which meant that he was now on the opposite side of Iacon from where he wanted to be. The saboteur wilted and sighed before trudging back the way he came. His purpose in Iacon's underbelly was two-fold. First, Ops had noticed an increase in femme traffic in the underground and wanted to know if there was something going on. Second, he needed some help revising his 'Woo Prowl' plan.

A plan that had been booted back to the drawing board courtesy of a very pointed conversation with a certain blue Praxian.

_~The Dark Cycle Before~_

A servo reached out and snagged Jazz's arm. His reaction time was so slowed by his apathy that he was unable to stop the owner of the servo from dragging from the hallway. One near function-threatening mistake was more than enough to fully bring him back to reality and he flipped up and around to pin the foolish mech to the wall. No one tried to assassinate the Jazz-meister on _his_ home turf.

Finding himself holding an energon knife to Smokescreen's neck cables was not what expected however.

"What tha frag mech!" The currently high strung saboteur exclaimed.

Smokescreen put up his servos in surrender. "Sorry Jazz, but I called your name three times!"

And now Jazz was embarrassed. "Oh." He crawled off the Praxian and offered him a servo up. "Sorry. Ah wasn' really payin' attention. What didja need?"

Smokescreen have him the Optic of Knowing(tm) and said. "I need to discuss Prowl with you."

It took every ounce of Jazz's ops training not to freeze like a brassbuck in the headlights. Instead he affected an air of mildly concerned nonchalance. "Wha's wrong wit' Prowler?"

Smokescreen arched an unamused optic ridge, likely borrowed from the very mech they were discussing. "Well, let's see, a 'mysterious' mech has been leaving inappropriate gifts on my brother's desk. Now, thanks to my tenure as tac-rep to Ops I have access to all the locator beacons for all the agents, and guess whose beacon was in Prowl's office when the presents were dropped off?"

"Tha gif's were in'propriate?" Jazz replied pitifully, once caught there was no point in hiding and so far Smokescreen did not seem too terribly offended.

Smokescreen could not hold his stern look, and he busted out laughing. Jazz looked so pathetic! "Mech! That's what you're focusing on?"

Jazz shrugged. "Well, it does kinda explain why Prowler picked someone else to complete ya trine."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come'on mech!" Jazz exclaimed irritably. "Ya can't pretend like ya don' kno' 'bout ya youngling bondmate. Ah kno' spark bonds don' work like tha'!"

Smokescreen sighed, nothing like adding a translation error on top of cultural misunderstanding. "Sit down Jazz, I need to explain some things to you."

Jazz sat down, arms folded, and Smokey raised an optic ridge. Jazz just crossed his peds in defiance.

Smokescreen sat in an adjacent chair and began. "The first thing you need to understand is that there are two types of trines, familial and bonded. The glyph used to denote both of these is the same except for a small modifier. The trine Prowl, the mechling, and I possess is the familial type. A primaer, an adepto, and a vicarius. It is three mechs who may or may not be related by sparkline, but who have chosen to be family permanently, thus the meaning 'brother who is chosen'. There is no interfacing in this type of bond and according to Praxian history it is a remnant of the wing-bonds of our Vosian ancestors. So, you can stop writing off your romantic inclinations towards Prowl. He is _not_ taken."

Jazz perked up considerably during the explanation, but then he slumped again. "But, ya said tha gif's were in'propriate."

Smokescreen gave him an amused look. "That... is because they were Prathama gifts, and if you are going to court Prowl you will need to present Bija gifts."

"Prathama gifts?" Jazz interrupted with a frown. "Tha datafile Ah read onleh mentioned one type o' courtin' gifts."

Smokescreen stiffened. "You have a Praxian courting manual?!"

Jazz unsubspaced it with an unsure nod. "Yeah, found it in tha South District near a school."

Smokescreen took the 'pad with reverence and smiled sadly. "Yes, that sounds about right. It would have belonged to a second degree sparkling preparing for the new coding their fourth frame would have."

"New coding?"

"Yes, when Vosians and Praxians reach their fourth frames their interfacing protocols begin to online in preparation for their adult frames. It is at this time that the sparklings find out whether they are prathama coded or bija coded."

"Wha's tha difference?" Jazz was puzzled, Polyhex did not have special interface coding.

"Well, again it goes back to our ancestors, but this time to our common Quintesson-era ancestors. During the occupation it was not safe for Vosians to have sparklings or bonds openly, lest the Quintessons steal the little for experimentation and forced upgrades. So, one or two of a mated trine would stay behind with the sparklings while the trine leader looked for energon. After a time, it became imbedded in our coding for two in a mated trine to be caretakers and one to be provider. The two types were designated Prathama and Bija, which translate to alpha and beta in Standard. These coding types translate into our courting methods as well, with the prathama pursuing the bijas of his choice. You were courting Prowl as the prathama which introduced a conflict, and unintentional insult, to his own prathama coding."

Jazz paled as the energon rushed from his faceplates. "Oh. C'n, c'n Ah fix it? Is't poss'ble fo' meh tah still court Prowl or have Ah blown mah chance?"

Smokescreen smiled indulgently, his brother was going to be such a lucky mech. "No, you haven't lost your chance. You are, however, going to have to change your method of approach. And, before you do that, you need to ask yourself if you are willing to be a bija, and undertake all the responsibilities of one."

~_Present Orn, No Longer Lost in the Maze_~

Jazz had left that talk without an answer and Smokescreen, who was himself a Prathama, could not help with more than a clinical list of what prathamas expected from bijas. The blue and red mech had suggested that Jazz should ask the femmes, but even when pressed he would not answer why they would know more than a Praxian about a Praxian custom.

Thus, Jazz was killing two turbofoxes with one stone.

He could tell he was entering the femmes' territory because the piles of slag and trash were largely cleared away and the remnants of the buildings looked lived in. The femmes had taken to sprucing up their territory after their acceptance by the Autobots, which signified that they no longer feared discovery, although they kept fake slag piles on servo to disguise their areas in case of incursion.

Jazz navigated his way to the meeting hall in hopes of finding some of the senior leadership there. He was in luck this orn as Phalanx was there overseeing a punishment detail assigned to polishing the hall's floor. Jazz was careful not to walk on the portion that had already been cleaned and called out to the big purple and orange mech.

"Yo, Philly, how's it hangin'?"

"Jazz." Came the laconic reply. "We were wondering when Blackshot would send you down. We did not think it would take so long for Ops to notice our increased population."

Jazz chuckled. "We have been a lil' busy up top. Though, tha' is really onleh half tha reason Ah'm here."

Phalanx arched an optic ridge. "And the other half?"

"Well," the saboteur replied sheepishly. "Ah need some information on Praxian courting practices from a Bija standpoint and Smokescreen directed meh here."

"Ah." Phalanx nodded sagely. "I suggest you talk to Solaris and his femmeling charge Windblade."

"Kay, ya kno' where they are?"

Phalanx's optics dimmed as he accessed his comms. "Sol and Windy are in the Cartography Lab. Go out the west exit, take the third street to the right, and the second stair down. Five buildings straight ahead and you will arrive at your destination."

Jazz nodded his thanks and took off.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

When Jazz arrived he found the tricolored Queen in the company of a brightly colored femmelet who bore the facial markings of a priest-in-training. They were pouring over some maps of the lowest levels and discussing what sounded like an exploratory mission to see if there was any way to go deeper. He silenced his steps as he entered, it was always fun to try to sneak up on the femmes' ops commander. As per usual though, Solaris both heard and identified him without even needing to turn around. If it had been any other mech it would have been embarrassing.

Solaris turned to him with a warm smile. "Jazz! It has been decacycles since I have seen you. How are you?"

"Ah've been well, thank ya." He replied as he skipped over to hop on a stool. "Word has it ya c'n answer mah questions."

Solaris gathered up the maps and moved to put them on a shelf. "Well I can certainly try. What troubles you?"

Jazz squirmed as he made himself comfortable. "Business before pleasure Ah guess. Tha bossmech wan's ta kno' why there're so many new femmes roamin' about."

Solaris nodded at his charge. "You mean like Windblade here."

"Mmhmm."

"Well Jazz, the answer is that we are now hosting the entire remaining femme population of Cybertron."

"What!" Jazz did not squeak, any testimony to the contrary was a lie.

"It was the inevitable outcome Jazz, even if we had not issued invitations of asylum. Windblade and I are the only femme survivors of Praxus, I because I migrated to the Iacon Clade, and Windy because he was sent to convince me to attend the family gathering for the Festival. The other clades know as well as we do that this is only the first of Megatron's plans and took the pre-emptive step of fleeing to the spark of Autobot territory for safety."

Jazz could accept that on face-value, but Command would not likely be pleased by the large number of new tanks to fill. There was another important tidbit in there too. "Ya had info 'bout Megs' plans befo' Praxus happened? Why didn' ya say anehthin'?! Prowl's entire culture has been wiped of o' tha map n' ya could have stopped it!"

Solaris shook his helm. "The information did not arrive until the attack was already underway and by then it was too late. Elita is upstairs now turning in a full report of the upcoming sequence of destruction as we have been able to determine it."

Jazz relaxed back onto his seat. "Kay, as long as tha's tha case Ah'm ok wit' it. Howevah, these new femmes gonna ina'grate? Cuz Ah don' see Command jus' acceptin' feedin'em wit'out a trade off o' some sort."

"And what do they think they would be able to do about it if we said no?" Solaris replied hotly, servos planted firmly on his hip gimbals in punctuation.

"Now, now Sol." Jazz backtracked quickly. "Ah'm not tryin' ta start a fight. It's not tha' Command would not want'ta take care o' any neutral femmes, it's tha' they don' have tha resources. At mos' they'd ask ya ta send'em ta a neutral colony like we did wit' tha aquatic frames."

Solaris smoothed down his ruffled plating. "That… is an acceptable reaction I suppose. For the most part the visiting clades were already supplying us with information, now they will become combat divisions divided and ranked based on citystate. Only the priests have refrained from joining up."

Jazz nodded, the priests were well-known as pacifists and Optimus Prime respected them greatly for their determination to hold to their values. "Kay, so if ya don' need ta tell meh anythin' else, Ah gotta 'nother question."

Solaris leaned against a holotable. "Shoot."

"Well," somehow all the courage had left him, and Jazz was embarrassed to bring it up. This was going to leave him vulnerable and was still not sure if he was okay with that. Still, he would never get to court Prowl if he did not know how. So, he scraped up his courage from the bottom of its hidey-hole, and spoke. "Ah'm-tryin'-ta-court-a-Praxian-don'-kno'-how-screwed-it-up-Smokescreen-said-ya-could-fix-it-help!"

Solaris blinked, then blinked again. "Um… one more time please Jazz, and slower this time. I won't bite you, I promise."

Jazz twisted his digits together and looked everywhere except at his two-mech audience. "Ah was tryin' ta court Prowl. Ah messed't up cuz Ah didn' kno' there were more th'n one kind'o courtin' n' if it hadn' been fo' Smokey Ah'd'a continued doin' all'a tha wrong things. Problem is, is'at Smokey don' kno' how ta court as a bija, bein' a prathama n' all, so he tol' meh tah talk ta ya. So, help?"

Solaris shook his helm with a warm smile. "Sure, both Windblade and I are bijas and it would be our pleasure to help you."

Jazz relaxed in relief. "Great! What do Ah do first?"

The femmeling, who had been content to allow his mentor to speak for them to this point, spoke up. "Well sir, first you need to understand that bijas do not court prathama, they tempt them."

Solaris nodded. "Yes, you have to make yourself desirable, worth pursuing in their optics."

"How do Ah do tha'?"

"There are many ways." Windblade replied. "Learn how he takes his energon and make him a mid-orn meal every orn."

"Straighten his office." Solaris added.

"Walk with him from his quarters to the ornly meeting."

"Compliment his strengths."

"Offer to help him in the washracks."

They would have continued in this manner, but Jazz raised a servo to stop them. "But Ah already do mos' o' tha'! Ya sayin' Ah been temptin' him this whole time?!"

Solaris cocked his helm. "Yes. How did he respond."

"Well he certainleh didn' respond wit' courtin' gifts, tha's fo' sure." The saboteur replied almost sullenly.

"Jazz." The Praxian femme said sharply. "_How_ did he respond."

Jazz looked up from glaring at the floor. "Well, he doesn' kick meh out anehmore." He paused to think. "He smile fo' meh, n' sometimes Ah c'n even get him ta joke wit' meh a bit. If Ah'm late ta get him in the light-cycle he comes ta get meh. He invites meh ta take mah en'rgon wit' him now too."

Solaris and Windblade exchanged a glance.

"Jazz," Solaris began. "You may not know this, but I am one of the Gifted. On the few occasions that I have seen Prowl, I have always gotten the impression that he is a very reserved, almost painfully shy mech when it comes to personal interaction. I think, in his own way, he has been responding."

Jazz perked up. "Ya think so?"

"Yes, we do." Windblade confirmed.

"Which means that it should not take much to tip his servo." Solaris said excitedly.

"Uh, like wha'?" Jazz said as he worriedly leaned back.

His reluctance did not deter the eagerly encroaching femmes at all.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Mirage was coming to realize that sometimes the ultra-structured methodology of Towers courtship could be very annoying. According to the rules he was supposed to respond to the first gift of courting with a return gift of equal value to the one presented to him. Given that he did accept their courtship he needed a pair of gifts of incredible value. The choice of what to get was made very difficult however, by who his suitors were. Hound had degrees in mechanimal husbandry and mechanimal cyberbiology. Trailbreaker was not degreed, but was very knowledgeable on all types of Cybertronian flora. Their interests were low-value shanix-wise, even if he could find specimens that properly conveyed what he loved about his suitors.

Then the diode clicked on. Mirage had an _idea_.

It would take some careful dealings and judicious maneuvering, however, it could be done. Mirage would have his gifts and they would be just as impressive as the mechs they represented. He would also be having a discussion with his suitors on whether they should continue the structured courting or if they could go to a more natural relationship.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Bluestreak/Thing carefully snuck out of his masters' quarters. He was being so very careful not to wake Smokescreen, who had fallen into recharge on the couch after a long dark-cycle with his poker group. One of his masters' primary rules was that Bluestreak/Thing was not permitted to wander the base alone, so attempting to leave should be enough to get him punished.

Once out in the corridor he scampered off in the general direction of the enlisted quarters, another place he was not allowed to be. It was the middle of the third shift so the halls were nearly devoid of mecha. This changed once Bluestreak/Thing reached the main portion of the base. He hesitated as he looked out, he had never seen so many mecha! His first masters lived on their master's estate and the neighborhood rarely had pedtraffic. Bluestreak/Thing waited until he saw a gap in the crowd, then dashed out. He was worried that someone would notice he did not belong, but there were bunches of mechs his size walking in the crowd. Once he got to the hall that he had been told was off limits it was much quieter. Unfortunately, there were plenty of mecha still roaming about and none of them were small like him. Bluestreak/Thing tried desperately to blend with the wall as he walked, but when he heard someone call out he knew he was caught.

"Hey, mechling, what're you doing down here? Where are your creators?"

The hulking mech that stepped into his path was awful and scary with his huge size and piercing optics. Bluestreak/Thing panicked and ran, narrowly missing being grabbed by the behemoth. He wanted to test his masters, not die! The big mech gave chase and just before he could be snagged, a door opened. Bluestreak/Thing leaped through the stabilizers of the golden-yellow mech exiting the room and frantically looked around for a place to hide. There! There was a bunch of stuff jammed under one of the berths and he could _just_ see a youngling-sized hole behind it. He had to tuck his doorwings down to fit, but that meant that no one else could follow him either. Bluestreak/Thing listened to see if the big mech was still coming after him.

"Sunstreaker move! That youngling doesn't belong down here." The big mech said.

'Sunstreaker' replied in a voice so dark with death it made Bluestreak/Thing shiver. "I couldn't give a frag if he does or doesn't. You're scaring him, so he stays. If you don't like that I can introduce you to a wall or four until you do."

A loud thump that rattled the floor told the mechling that the bigger mech had stomped his ped. "Yeah right, like I'm really gonna leave a youngling in the servos of a marauder like you."

A third voice popped up from behind the big mech. "I don't think you understand mech, we're not giving you a choice."

A few echoing thuds were heard, then a frame shaking crash. Bluestreak/Thing plastered himself against the wall, and wished that he had never left his masters' quarters. He knew the two violent mechs had closed the door when the light dimmed. He heard them walk over to the berths and sit down. It was silent for a moment, then a soft voice, one that he barely recognized was the yellow mech, said. "You can stay under there for as long as you need to. We may be tough with the other big mechs, but we would never hurt a youngling."

Then there was silence. If Bluestreak/Thing strained his audials, he could just barely hear the big mechs' vents, but that was all. The time passed terminally slow, but the never moved. After a while he heard their vents slow and rhythmic sighing sound began to repeat. They were in recharge. Bluestreak/Thing wasted no time in scrambling out and for the door. It did not open. He was trapped!

Then there was a scraping sound that made him whirl around in terror. There was a red mech sitting in front of the berth pushing the storage crates back to close up his hidey-hole. The golden mech was the one in recharge, so there would be no second rescue.

He looked at the red mech and the red mech looked at him. Then the big mech spoke. "Hi, I'm Sideswipe. What's your dez?"

Bluestreak/Thing started to cry.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Blaster was on duty when the message came in and could not help but wish he was not. It had been very difficult for the hostmecha to search through the ruins of Praxus, it reminded him far too much of the host district in Polyhex. It was the same for Mirage, as the noble had confided during the most recent Friends of Jazz get-together.

Thus, when the cry for reinforcements and rescue aid came in from the Manganese Outpost it was as though the wound was fresh once more.

The Mountains were _melting_.

* * *

Every1's Beta: Oh thank you for the inspiration! My muse fairly leapt on your ideas for Bluestreak and the twins and RAN away with it. It is sooo being used in the next chapter.

Starfire 201: I am so glad you like the meaning, most of Blue's bios list the English translation of his name with no thought as to a Cybertronian meaning. This gave me a lot of literary license to play with and I am glad it came off well. The trauma too is interesting to work with, it changes the way some of the canon characters might react to certain situations without coming off as ooc.

Wastingtimeagain: well, I hope this wasn't too long of a wait, but I did have a reason so I hope you forgive me.

Canikostar99: well, as you can see Jazz survived and Smokescreen has learned a valuable lesson about not sneaking up on opsmechs.

BookLovingPerson R.B.L: yes, Jazz was under the impression that trine mates were trinemates(I.e. bondmates), and that the only way he could have Prowl was to snag the empty trine position. He would have eventually started courting Smokescreen too if he could have gotten some return interest from Prowl.


	6. Chapter 6: The Sky is Falling

Well, I really pushed it down to the wire this time didn't I. I would apologize for waiting until Dec 31st, but that would mean being sorry for my first ever Triple Post, which I am very much not sorry for.

Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma to a child.

Enjoy chapter 1 of 3 of the triple post. Happy New Year everyone!

* * *

Chapter 6:

Smokescreen rose slowly from his recharge cycle, the dark-cycle before had been very productive and he had desperately needed a nap. He stretched luxuriously and shook out his wings. He noticed that it was very quiet, and that was even taking into account that Bluestreak was still not speaking or playing. Smokescreen thought that perhaps the little one might also be taking a nap and tip-pedded over to the mechling's berthroom. It was empty at first glance so the blue and red Praxian looked in all the hidey-holes throughout the room. Still no sign of a grey mechling. Smokescreen was beginning to get worried, but it was possible that Bluestreak might have hidden away somewhere else in the suite.

A joor's worth of increasingly frantic searching produced no youngling and Smokescreen made a comm call he had not anticipated ever having to make.

-:- Prowl, the bitlet's gone! -:-

-:- What? -:-

-:- Bluestreak! He's gone! -:-

The line went dead and Smokescreen began to pace. It would not be long before his brother arrived, then they could panic together and turn the base upside down to get their mechling trinebrother back.

~_Meanwhile_~

Bluestreak/Thing wailed his terror and upset into the comforting gold shoulder of the mech who held him. His crying earlier had caused the golden mech to wake up and smack the red one for scaring a youngling. After that Sunstreaker had scooped him up to cuddle. However, despite figuring out that he was, in fact, safe with these mechs, Bluestreak/Thing could _not_ stop crying.

Then the safe arms moved and he was held up to face the big mech. "Hey, you're okay now, time to dry up the coolant-works."

The deep, yet nice voice startled Bluestreak/Thing out of his emotional cycle and he was able to calm himself down to minor hitching when he vented. Sunstreaker smiled faintly and tucked the youngling back into his shoulder.

"There now, that's better, isn't it?" he said gruffly. "What's your designation sparkplug, and where'd you come from? I didn't think we had any sparklings on base."

Bluestreak/Thing sniffed softly. "I'm… Bluestreak."

He wanted to make sure that at least one mech knew his special name, that way when his trine took it away it would still be known and safe.

"I'm sorry for my idiot brother, it's been a while since he had a playmate with the same mental capacity as himself." The gruff voice said again.

"Hey!"

Bluestreak/Thing giggled. A black servo tapped his and he looked up into the face of the red mech. "Sunstreaker is right about one thing bitlet, I do like to play. I have a couple of games here that Sunny won't play with me, would you?"

Bluestreak/Thing thought about it. The brothers were very nice and not tried to hurt him even once. "Okay."

~_Back in the Land of the Panicking_~

Smokescreen and Prowl walked swiftly through the halls attempting to retrace the path of their wee trinebrother. Prowl had contacted Red Alert within moments of being informed of his mechling's disappearance. Unfortunately, it was Red's darkcycle off and the cameras had not been as stringently maintained, something the white and red Gygaxian was rectifying even at that very moment. Added to that issue, was the fact that Bluestreak was almost the size of a minibot and therefore very difficult to detect in the few cameras that were pointed in the direction of his flight. The last viable frame showed him headed in the direction of the enlisted quarters.

Neither Smokescreen nor Prowl could figure out what would possibly draw him down there, especially since they had stressed that it was off limits for safety reasons. Asking the mecha traversing the area brought no answers for few of them had actually been in the area during the time in question and those that were had not noticed the little mech for all the minibots. Fortunately that changed when they reached the forbidden wing.

A brown tankformer rushed up to them as soon as they turned the first corner. "General Prowl! The twins have someone's sparkling locked in their room!"

The distinctive haze of lock-up started to wash over Prowl at the mention of his youngling's whereabouts. The twins were less than respectable by normal mechs' standard, and though they seemed to respect Prowl, in their own way, they were still pitfighters from Kaon. Their rough manner and harsh upbringing would not be favorable to a delicate youngling's frame or meta. Prowl held himself together though with the thought that it would not have been long since Bluestreak had been trapped, elsewise the brown mech would have reported it to Security.

"Thank you soldier, we will deal with it posthaste."

The frontliner vented in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. The twins have had him for joors and I wasn't able to report it because they knocked me out!"

Prowl's second attempt at lock-up was stalled by Smokescreen's urgent shoving as the older Praxian dashed off towards the twins' shared quarters. Black and white caught up with blue and red quickly though, and they took the next two corners as one. The desired door loomed up before them and Prowl punched in his override rather than wait for the twins to decide answering their doorchime was worthwhile.

All of their frantic running was unnecessary it turned out, to their gasping disbelief. Bluestreak was completely unharmed and sitting happily on the floor between two giant chassis getting a first class education in pranking from the red mech who lay beside him. Prowl was so relieved that he did not even make note of the pranking schematics as he rushed to scoop Bluestreak into his arms.

"Bluestreak!" he cried, "Where have you been! Why did you run off, we were so worried!"

Smokescreen echoed the same sentiment and hovered close to his recovered trinebrother. Bluestreak said nothing and seemed to shrink into himself. Sideswipe subspaced the plans for his latest epic Idea™ and stood languidly. "Sorry Prowl, we didn't know he was yours, otherwise we'd'a commed you. Although, if you're having problems getting responsible sitters for him Sunny and I would be happy to help out whenever we're off duty."

Sideswipe leaned closer conspiratorially. "Although Sunny will probably protest just for the principle of it, he really loves younglings and is a great caretaker."

Sunstreaker growled menacingly, but quite obviously did not protest. Smokescreen thanked the twins for taking care of his trinebrother and for their kind offer, then ushered off his trine back to their own suite.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

Prowl set Bluestreak/Thing down on the couch and stepped back so Smokescreen could kneel in front of the mechling. Bluestreak/Thing already felt abandoned by the action and noted in his meta that Smokescreen, surprisingly, would be the violent one. He braced himself for the coming blow, but it never arrived.

Instead a sad, hesitant question was asked. "Bluestreak, why did you leave the suite without waking me up? We have been so worried about you."

It had to be a trick, it just had to be, so Bluestreak/Thing crossed his arms and defiantly said nothing. Smokescreen looked at Prowl and the black and white took a try. "Bluestreak, we understand that it can be lonely cooped up in here by yourself, but we cannot just let you roam unescorted through the base. It is too dangerous…"

Before Prowl could continue Bluestreak/Thing cut him off. "You're nothin' but a pair of sparklin' humpin' liars! You just want to keep me hidden in here until everyone forgets about Praxus and forgets I'm here so you don't have'ta be nice to me anymore! You said I was Special, but you're nothin' but liars, just like my old trine! I bet the only reason you're takin' care of me is cuz Medic Ratchet made you do it! You don't care about me, you never cared about me! I'm the stray pet you rescued, and now you want to lock me away so you don't have to deal with me! Well go ahead, hit me, lock me up, but I'll never stop tryin' to run away from you fragging glitched, evil, meanies! I hate you! I fragging hate you!"

Bluestreak/Thing's vents heaved and he took a deep in-vent to get his cycling plant back in line. That should just about do it, now they would hit him and reveal their true colors… Bluestreak/Thing froze. Big, shiny coolant drops were falling from Prowl's optics and it stopped the mechling cold. He watched as Smokescreen stood to comfort the black and white Praxian, only to be brushed off. Prowl quickly scrubbed the tears away and excused himself from the suite. Bluestreak/Thing just sat there in shock until Smokescreen looked back at him with wounded optics. He steeled himself for the beating that had to be coming now, there was no way that such hurtful words would be let go.

Smokescreen did not raise a servo against him, but merely stated softly. "Prowl and I love you as though you had unfurled as our code-brother. We know your masters abused you and hurt you terribly, but that does not mean you get to be like them and hurt us. We want to help you heal, but that will only work if you decide you want to be healed."

Then Smokescreen left the room with the comment that he would be fetching the dark-cycle meal.

Bluestreak/Thing sat in silence. What had he done?! He had acted just like the Malevolent One and hurt the only mechs to ever offer him kindness. A family, a real family had been given to him and he had broken it! Now he would never be loved and never have a family. He really would be abandoned this time and it was all his fault. Bluestreak sniffled and began to weep for the precious thing he had lost.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

There was an annoying beeping sound…

…

It was getting louder. So irritating…

…

Someone poked his arm and he batted it away. Five more kliks…

…

When the shaking started, Prowl's memory core finally reengaged and he jolted up from his desk. Had he really recharged there? From the aches in his frame the answer was yes. He shuttered his optics blearily and looked over at the mech who had woke him. He promptly stopped mid-blink. It was Jazz, obviously, who else bothered to check up on him in his office, but the black and white Polyhexian was polished up like a noble's consort. It was… disconcerting. And it had stirred something within Prowl that he was hesitant to examine too closely. The opportunity to stare at the shiny saboteur was removed when the shiny mech leaned into his face and tapped his chevron.

"Yo Prowler, ya 'wake now?"

Of course he was, his optics were lit and he was moving was he not? Although, it would likely help Jazz if he were to respond. Hmm, a diagnostic on his processors might be in order if he continued to function at such a slow rate.

"I am fully functional." He stated primly.

The shiny… _Jazz_ backed off with an enormous grin and offered Prowl a servo up. The Praxian waved away the aid and stood by himself. "Is it time for the ornly meeting?"

"Yeppers Prowler." Jazz said as he danced out of the office. "When ya weren't at ya quarters Ah figured ya'd be here, n' Ah kno' ya need ta get there earleh ta set up so Ah rushed ova' ta wake ya."

The dancing was very distracting as it made the light slide over Jazz's curves in all the right ways… No, not logical Prowl! Jazz had no idea that Prowl loved him and it was not fair to the Polyhexian to think such thoughts about him. Prowl tamped down on his emotional subroutines and began to discuss the pre-meeting duties with Jazz.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

It was always odd to see Jazz sitting behind Blackshot along the wall of the conference room. The position was generally filled by the department's TIC, but Jazz was unknowingly being groomed for Helm of Ops, which necessitated the irregularity. Prowl was still curious about what story Blackshot had fed the saboteur to make him think his inclusion was normal because Jazz was still completely unaware of his heir status. The only reason Prowl knew was because somemech had to be there to support the transition and protect the saboteur from political usurpers, though he was forbidden from protecting Jazz from physical deposers. Apparently, it was tradition for new Ops commanders to earn their position by right of energon shed, so barbaric.

As Optimus Prime entered the room Prowl put away his observations and cued up his reports for the orn. The stately mech did not take his seat, but addressed the assembly from the door. "My friends, a great tragedy has and is befalling us."

The mecha in the room shifted with alarm.

"Last orn the Decepticons attacked the Halls of the Manganese Mountains, and using an unknown weapon, melted them to slag."

There were audible gasps around the table.

Optimus slowly traverse the room to his chair at the far end and continued. "Lord Spineback issued orders for the complete evacuation of the under-cities as soon as the attack began. Unfortunately, due to the suddenness of the invasion and unprecedented success of the weapon, only a small portion of the minibot population survived. Barely ten thousand managed to get to the safety of our outpost, though I have been informed that even that remnant would have smaller had it not been for Prince Goldbug's insistence upon waiting for cover of darkness to make the trek. Our base is not equipped to handle so many civilians and we need a plan, gentlemechs, on how to house these refugees long-term."

There was silence as everyone processed the news and its accompanying orders. The comm lines then lit up as the various department helms began tasking their mecha and acquiring suggestions. Predictably Prowl should have been first, but this time Blackshot, with a lot of help from Jazz, beat him to it.

"Prime, my mecha could easily get the minibots to Iacon using the deep level tunnels. I have conferred with ElitaOne on the matter and he has wholesparkedly pledged his femmes as guides and protectors."

Optimus nodded. "That is most admirable of them, but would not the movement of such a large group endanger their own hidden status?"

Before an answer could be given, the conference room door slid open to allow ElitaOne and his fellow Queens entrance. They arrayed themselves at parade rest before the table, each a specimen of dangerous beauty and quiet lethality, and the White Queen addressed the Prime. "We came as soon as we heard of the tragedy. We offer our aid to you however you determine we may best serve."

Blackshot was surprised to see them, they had previously sent notice of absence for this meeting due to an emergency mission to retrieve the last femme resistance group in Decepticon territory. The Prime also was aware of this, but gave no indication of it as he nodded his thanks to his oldest friend.

"Thank you my dearest Queen. The questions remain though, can you safely escort such a large number of mecha through the underground without revealing your existence to the Decepticons?"

"Foh safeteh's sake we's gonna take ah minimum ah two groups over two different routes." Answered Chromia. "Our intel says that thah 'Cons still got no knowledge ah thah deep levels, bu'betta safe than sorry."

There were murmurs of agreement to the caution from most of the table and Optimus opened the plan to general discussion. Ironhide expressed a desire the check over the femmes' arsenal to make sure they had the best weapons for what could be close quarters fighting. Wheeljack offered his entire vault of dangerous toys and explosives for their use as well. Then Red Alert insisted that all the minibots be subtly interviewed for the presence of Decepticon spies as this would be an excellent method for inserting a spy into Iacon. Ratchet asked if Goldbug's youngling should be removed from duty for a period of grieving for his grand-sire, but Blackshot denied the request, it would leave Jazz's team crippled at a time when every team would be needed fully functional. Bumblebee could grieve when this was over, he was Ops, he would deal and quite possibly become even more deadly than he already was.

When no further improvements could be found and the necessary resources tasked Optimus Prime dismissed the femme commanders to their mission. Then he asked for input on the next issue. "Does anyone have suggestions for where we can house them and how we will care for them?"

Prowl looked up from his contemplation. "Lord Prime, if I may, I believe I have a solution."

Optimus motioned to him to indicate that the floor was his.

"We will send them off planet." Prowl announced, it did not go over well.

"Naw wait just'a flippin' klik!" Ironhide exclaimed. "We cain't just send away ev'ra refugee group that comes'tah us an' scatter 'em amongst thah stahs! Mech's'll stop comin' tah us if we do!"

Prowl acknowledged the outburst as valid, but he knew what was coming if they did not follow this course of action. "Your concern is sound, but new intelligence submitted only recently by Special Operations has revealed that Megatron's new campaign is, in fact, designed to systematically eradicate the neutral and Autobot-supporting populations of Cybertron. He intends to drive the survivors to us to keep us so overwhelmed that we cannot stop him. If we send the incoming groups to hidden settlements across the galaxy we can keep them safe and out of Megatron's servos until such time as it is safe for them to return."

The room was quiet as everyone contemplated that this was not going to stop anytime soon, but would soon engulf their entire planet. It was not what anyone wanted, they wanted to end this war swiftly, and for a while they thought such a goal was in reach. Now it was clear that there would be only a decimated planet and survivors scraping to rebuild a destroyed civilization. Prime's countenance said it all as he grieved, what kind of beings were they that they would bring themselves to their own destruction. Megatron would not have peace however, and it would be negligence at best if they allowed him to rule. He would be a brutal dictator and the suffering of Cybertron would only be worse. What a choice was before them, fight to eradication, or submit to a tyrant. The agreement to Prowl's plan was swift after that sank in.

When it came to Ratchet's turn to vote however, "This idea of yours is all well and good for the victims. But what about the citystates he hasn't attacked yet? Are you just planning to leave them to the Cons' tender mercies?"

Prowl turned to face the perpetually grumpy medic. "I do have a framework for a plan of action, however, in order to refine and implement it I require more information." He turned to Blackshot. "If at all possible, I need the list of cities Megatron plans to attack next along with any knowledge about the weapon used on the Mountains."

Blackshot nodded and glanced back at Jazz who acknowledged the notice for a post-meeting mission briefing. It was bad timing for the saboteur's Courtin' Plans, but war superceded all else at the moment.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

Blackshot entered his office and motioned Jazz to the last open chair. Bumblebee and Mirage had already been summoned and were waiting for them. Therefore, the briefing could begin without delay.

"Congratulations mechs. You just won first class tickets to Kaon. Your objectives are simple: get in without being seen, hack the Decepticon mainframe, destroy the weapon, and get back here with minimal damage to yourselves and maximum damage to the 'Cons. Are these objectives understood?" Blackshot stated with a gauging look.

"Loud n' clear, sir." Jazz replied for the group.

"Excellent. After we finish here, Jazz, I want you to confer with Prowl so the entry and exit plans are perfect. You're in charge of the mainframe so go see if Wheeljack has any new hacking software. Bumblebee, you are in charge of terminating the weapon, but you're not going to have Mirage as back-up so choose some support staff. Mirage, you will be covering Jazz and the exit route so you get you to choose back-up too, but not your lovers. They represent too much distraction at this point in your courtship. Any suggestions for secondary goals?" Blackshot would lay a framework, but it was up to his mechs to personalize it.

"I'd like to get some tracer tags from Ratchet." Bumblebee suggested. "If I can dart a few of the 'Cons we can get a more complete map of the Kaon base."

"A few delayed-action virus darts would probably not hurt either." Mirage added to the small assassin.

"Ah have always wan'ed a crack at Megs' personal terminal." Jazz said with an unholy grin. "Think of tha juicy details he must have stored on there."

Blackshot mentally added those ideas to the mission parameters. It drove Prowl nuts that Ops never had any mission reports, but for the safety of the operatives it had to be done this way. When the ops commander heard Jazz's wish he applauded the lofty desire, but put a restriction on it.

"You may only attempt Megatron's terminal if all the other objectives have been cleared and the exposure risk is under ten percent." He gave the saboteur a firm glare to reinforce how serious he was concerning these strictures.

Jazz nodded with an unrepentant grin and Blackshot sighed in exasperation. Jazz would be the deactivation of him yet. "Alright ya hooligans, get out of here and get ready to leave at first light."

Jazz and Bumblebee scampered out like the younglings they would always be, and Mirage followed at a more respectable pace. Just as he was about to cross the threshold Mirage looked back and said, "I never did thank you for making me a permanent sparkling-sitter."

Blackshot's laughter followed the trio all the way out of Ops' territory.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

It had been four orns since Bluestreak/Th… no, he was just Bluestreak, he had to remember that. It was all he had left of his family, the one he had ruined before he realized what was being offered to him.

It had been four orns since _Bluestreak_ had blown up on his trine and Prowl still was not talking to him. The black and white would come in way late after Binaura had set, just about the time when Smokey was putting him to berth, and just watch sadly from the berthroom door until Smokey tucked Bluestreak in. In the morning Bluestreak would be woken by Prowl gently stroking his helm, but as soon as he was awake Prowl would move away without a word.

It hurt Bluestreak's spark, but he knew he deserved it. He felt lucky that Prowl still wanted him even though Bluestreak had been so mean to him. Bluestreak had spoken with Smokescreen at first light this orn, it was so very hard to pull together the courage to do so, and Smokescreen had not punished him for it. The older Praxian had hugged him! And all Bluestreak had said was 'Good morning'! Bluestreak had cried at the loving kindness and apologized profusely for being like his bad masters. Smokescreen had nuzzled his helm and told him that he was forgiven. Then they had the most delicious first-meal, as a _family_, or at least most of one. If only he could have Prowl back too.

This thought dwelt heavy in Bluestreak's meta the whole orn and he decided it time to do something about it.

Which was why he was sneaking out of the suite one more time. Bluestreak made sure to leave a note on Smokescreen's chassis so the psychologist would not worry when he awoke from his nap. Bluestreak walked towards the busy part of the base like he did last time. He was planning to ask someone to show him where Prowl worked, but someone found him first.

A shiny white and red mech with pretty flashing horns came careening around the corner and stopped in front of Bluestreak.

"What are you doing out here alone?!" the odd mech screeched. "Don't you know it's dangerous to wander around here alone?! I told Prowl you needed a better caretaker but did he listen, no! And now I'm having to deal with the constant breaches in security!"

The mech gasped. "It's a plot. He's working for the Decepticons, I just know it!"

Bluestreak was scared, but he was more scared for Prowl. Prowl was going to get in trouble and it was his fault, _again_! He desperately patted the mech's shin guard to get his attention. It did not take long to do so, and once he was completely sure the mech was focused on him, he spoke.

"When I ran away a few orns ago I was very mean to Prowl. I hurt his feelings and now he is always sad around me. He had always been so nice. No one has ever been nice to me before, you know. So I have to make him feel better so we can be a family again. I've never had a family so I didn't know they were so breakable. But Smokey says our family's not really broke, just cracked. I think if I apologize to Prowl I can fix the crack, make Prowl all better, and maybe he will want to be a family again." Bluestreak took a deep in-vent. "The only problem is I don't know where to find Prowl, and I can't ask Smokey to help me cuz then it won't seem like I really mean it and I do mean it. It's important to be sin-sincere Smokey said, cuz it proves you really mean what you say or do…"

The white and red mech mech held up a servo to stop the flood of words. "If I help you get to Prowl will you promise me to never leave your suite again without a chaperone?"

Bluestreak cocked his helm at the suddenly calm mech and noted that the pretty horns were not flashing anymore. He did not think it was possible to calm down that quickly, but whatever luck got him to Prowl, he would take.

"I promise!" he said earnestly.

It meant that Bluestreak would be stuck inside most of the time, but it was a small price to pay for having a whole family. He still could not believe that he had gotten so lucky. Other mechs had families, but little Thing had _never_ been special enough to have one.

The white mech knelt down to Bluestreak's level. "Okay. Then this is how we'll do this."

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

Trailbreaker and Hound stood on the landing dock. In front of them were two giant crates with their names on them.

The problem was that neither of them had ordered anything, particularly not something from off-world, but the manifest was not faked. These deliveries were for them from… someone. The only clue would likely be found in the contents of the crates.

Finally gathering himself up, Hound pressed the six-digit code included on the manifest 'pad into the lock screen to open the crate. Trailbreaker, not to be outdone by his lover, did the same. The boxes transformed away and the contents left them both in shock. Hound found himself the recipient of a stunningly beautiful pair of cyberwolves, an ancestral species of the cyberhound thought extinct for at least a hundred thousand millennia. Their metallic coats were well polished and their sleek frames spoke of meticulous attention to their health. An included datapad listed them as a mated pair and detailed their care instructions. Hound was in love, they were the best present he had ever received!

Trailbreaker's box was slightly smaller, but still held something just as spectacular. It was a biomechanical tree! It was half as tall as the defensive tactician with a thick trunk and fantastically droopy leaf fronds. The whole thing pulsated brightly with biolights all up and down the trunk and fronds. Trailbreaker's care datapad indicated that the biolights' colors could actually be changed depending on the types of minerals he fed it. The black mech was ecstatic, it was the kind of thing he had only ever dreamed of possibly having, but never had he expected it to become a reality.

It was during their gleeful babbling to one another over their presents that they discovered who had given them such wonderful gifts. Trailbreaker had happened to wave his datapad in the direction of Hound's wolves at just the right angle for the scout to spot the tiny identifying glyph on the back.

It was Mirage's.

They both stopped and frowned. How were they supposed to properly thank their beloved spy when he had just left the light-cycle before?

They both grinned evilly.

Let the plotting begin.

-..-..-..-..-..-..-

Prowl's doorwing twitched.

Ever since Red Alert had dropped off his security report Prowl had felt like he was being watched. It made no sense, there was no one in the room but himself. A blinking yellow notice at the bottom of his HUD alerted him to low fuel levels and he sighed. Low energon levels made him prone to sensor ghosts. To alleviate the issue Prowl picked up the energon cube from the corner of his desk and took a deep draught.

He froze mid-swallow.

He had not brought any energon with him this morning and neither had Red Alert dropped any off. His meta immediately began spinning theories of assassins and he cued up Ratchet's comm line in hopes that the medic could get there before whatever poison was in the energon had time to act upon him. However, before he sent the emergency transmission Prowl looked down at the spot the cube had appeared on and noticed a tiny pair of servos gripping his desk edge. There were also a pair of nervous looking optics peaking just over the servos and Prowl recognized his littlest trinebrother. He swallowed his mouthful of fuel and got up from his desk. The elder Praxian circled around until he could crouch down to be optic-to-optic with the gray mechling.

"Bluestreak?" Prowl asked. "What are you doing here? And where is Smokescreen?"

The small youngling took a tremulous intake and explained. "Smokey's still 'charging. I left him at home 'cuz I wanted you to know I was sin-cere. I almost got lost trying to find you but a nice mech with shiny horns found me and showed me the way. He said that I couldn't come without an offering and that energon was best 'cuz you don't fuel enough. He, his name is Red Alert by the way, took me to the rec room, and I got to meet the Prime! He's big. But Red got me a cube for you and then let me sneak in behind him when he came to see you. He said I had to be real quiet and wait for your wings to start twitching and then I could give you your cube. Why did he want me to wait until your wings twitched?"

Prowl had no idea how to reply. His mechling had just gone from completely solemn silence to cheerful chatterbox in the space of just a few orns and he had no idea what to do with that. He quickly picked out a single point of the overflow of words before his logic center could focus too much on the incongruence.

"Wait, what were you trying to be sincere about?"

Bluestreak's faceplates heated up, he had explained everything and still forgotten to apologize. "I'm sorry for being mean to you Prowl. I hurt you with my words and made you feel like I used to when my masters were around. I don't want you to hurt like I did and think that no one will ever love you. You are awesome, more awesome than I deserve. I'm just a worthless Thing but you gave me a family anyway. I _want_ to be your Bluestreak and I'm sorry for messing that up."

Prowl did not say anything, but scooped up the mechling in a tight hug. Bluestreak could hear the bigger mech's spark pounding and snuggled closer to the reassuring sound. He had previously thought the bond-snuggles during his time in stasis were the best ever, but Bluestreak found himself to be very wrong. Real snuggles were so much better.

When Prowl finally began to speak Bluestreak was almost in recharge in his arms. "From the moment I met you, there was never a time where I did not love you. Even when I thought you hated me, I loved you. That fact will never change, and because of it I forgave you the moment you said you hated me. I was simply waiting for _you_ to want _me_."

Bluestreak smiled so big his faceplates hurt. "So you'll be my family again?"

Prowl smiled softly. "I never stopped. From the moment my spark touched yours until the end of all time I will be your trinebrother. Nothing can _ever_ change that."

Bluestreak's joy tripled within his spark and filled him so much he thought he would burst! He was so happy he began to cry for all the times he had not been this happy. He felt Prowl hold him closer and move them to the chair for better comfort. Then he started babbling, pouring out all his hurts in one fell rush.

"I don't know what to do, I never had a family! No one wanted me, and I was alone, and Masters said I was nothing but a charity case. That I should be thankful for their pity. They were so mean to me. They used to lock me in closets if I spoke and one time they tied me to my berth cuz I was humming the night before and they left me there for a whole orn and I lost feeling in my servos and pedes and when they did let me go I could barely move! And that was just what the Spiteful one did! I hopped down the stairs of their house and accidentally made too much noise and the Mean one kicked me off the landing and I broke my wings and they had to call the medic and the Mean one slapped me and said I should fall better next time and then they told the medic I tripped and he believed them and they called me Clumsy Thing for decacycles. And they deleted my name! I had one, a real one, and I know they deleted it cuz I found the empty spot and it had jagged edges so I knew it was deleted and not nat'rally empty. It hurt too much to think about so I just pretended that Thing was my name until I had it imprinted in my memory cuz it was easier that way and at least I had a name that way."

Prowl listened to his mechling and rocked him back and forth. It hurt to hear how his little mech had been treated, but he would never even dare interrupt or stop him. The benefit of letting Bluestreak verbalize his abuse far outweighed Prowl's mental comfort.

They would sit there for joors.

* * *

Every1's Beta: you know, you are seriously full of good ideas and my plot bunnies are growing. Also, hope the drama bomb was good enough, I think I may have been a little to angsty at times.

canikostar99: I thought about writing that scene, but it did not quite fit (author secretly stashes idea away for Sidestories).

nique17: a Sideswipe surprise indeed. Also, I never thought about it, but it really was sort of a girl-talk moment wasn't it.

Guest: oh thank you so much for the laugh, I dearly needed that. =)

squidgy: well, sadly the cliffhanger will not resolve until chapter 8, but I'm glad you liked it.


	7. Chapter 7: King of the Mountain

Chapter 2 of 3 of the triple post. Happy New Year!

Warnings: hints of future slash.

* * *

Chapter 7:

The last group of minibots was moved into the temporary housing units almost three orns after the femmes were sent out to retrieve them. It was quite the example of efficiency that the sub-ops group was able to move such a large group in such a short time. Optimus Prime was very pleased and expressed his sentiment in full to ElitaOne. At the moment he was preparing his office to meet with the new Lord of the Minibots. Prince Goldbug had requested the audience as soon as he verified the last survivor was safe, but refused to say why it was so important.

Optimus set out the last of his borrowed tea set. Prowl had been reluctant to loan out such an irreplaceable heirloom, but he trusted Optimus implicitly with the last gift his sensei had given him before his deactivation. It was a beautiful set, servo-carved by a long deactivated crystal craftsmech and even came with instruction on how to prepare the old-age ener-tea once favored by the more honorable members of the nobility. The ceremonial nature of serving ener-tea signified a willingness to serve a lower-ranked individual and offered equality in whatever negotiations were to be discussed.

A comm call interrupted his fussing over the placement of the cups.

-:- Announcing His Eminence, Prince Goldbug, Lord of the Minibots. -:-

The formality of the caller caught him off guard for a moment, but he knew that the minibot royalty tended towards old-age standards. Thus, he responded in the traditional language.

-:- The Lord Prime would know the identity of this announcer before granting such freedom to entry. -:-

-:- Transmitting identity codes Lord Prime. -:-

The codes registered the mech as the grandcreation of the now-deactivated Lord Chancellor of the minibots. Optimus felt a moment of sorrow that so many mecha had deactivated to cause such young mechs to take up positions they were far from ready to take.

-:- His Eminence is granted entrance by leave of the Prime of Cybertron, Sovereign of all Cybertronians. Thank you Lord Chancellor. -:-

While he knew he had no real power to promote the mech to his grandcreator's position, the Prime's support would at least make the young mech feel less questioning of his own adequacy. The inner door to Optimus' office opened upon a stoutly built dark gold minibot who was very aptly named. The mech was a few vorns younger than Optimus, but the Lord of the Minibots appeared far older than his vorns due to the stress of the recent orns. The Prime motioned him silently to the table at which he had placed the tea set and waited, as per custom, for his guest to be seated before settling in his own chair. If Optimus had been a lower ranked noble he would have been expected to pull out Prince Goldbug's chair for him, yet Optimus was again offering equality by both allowing the younger mech to seat himself and also not expecting the new Lord to seat the Prime first.

There was an almost nervous silence in the room that Optimus doubted he would have been able to sense had he not possessed Matrix-enhanced senses. He did not breach it though, instead allowing his guest to gather himself as the truck-former poured their ener-tea. He set the cups before them both and lifted his to the Prince. "I bid you welcome in my presence Prince Goldbug, Lord of the Minibots, and extend my spark-felt relief at your safe arrival to my realm."

The gold mech inclined his helm and retracted his battlemask to sip the beverage offered to him. The soothing tea eased his nervousness and the sense of kindness exuding from the Prime gave him courage to speak as a ruler for the first time on the planetary level.

"My Lord Prime, my eternal gratitude and servitude is yours for the boon of your protection. To be granted such safety and care as you have given is beyond repayment. I would know what you require in return for your kindness and ask the favor of my creation's release from your service that he might be reunited with the remnant of his people."

Optimus did not reply immediately. He knew that protocol dictated that the Prime not offer anything without a return, but he had never liked that policy. He swirled the liquid energon in his cup as he thought about how to change the tone of the conversation without insulting his guest.

There was really no way to truly accomplish the matter and he could only hope that his own honesty would be enough. "Prince Goldbug, it has always been my own opinion that as the Prime of Cybertron I am to serve the people. For me to require servitude for aid is abhorrent to my own sense of justice and the Matrix concurs with me. If you will forgive the breach of protocol, I would prefer to simply care for your denizens as long as it is within my power to do so.

"As for your creation, I am unwilling to terminate a good mech's service without the permission of that mech. Should Bumblebee come to me himself with the request, I would release him from his duties and obligations without reprisal. I would let you see him immediately to speak with him about such a decision, but he is not on base at the moment."

Goldbug's armor puffed in angry irritation. "He is my creation, I hold legal right to have him removed from military service at any time of my own choosing, and denying his presence on base to keep him from me is a move unworthy of a Prime!"

Optimus did not respond with the anger that the young prince wanted from him, but with gentle, yet firm, understanding. "I understand the legalities of your stance, but Cybertronian law states that Primal military service is not subject to regional or Citystate military laws. If Bumblebee were a member of the Minibot Militia his service would fall under your purview, however, it does not. I will not terminate him without his consent, it would be an ill turn for the loyalty he has given me. As for your other allegation, he is a member of a prestigious team of Special Operations mecha that is currently on assignment. Due to the sensitivity of Ops missions I cannot grant you any information on his whereabouts, except that he is off base. It would endanger him to do otherwise."

The minibot Prince set down his cup coolly. "I believe I will take my leave from you, it is no benefit to speak with you any longer. I expect to be informed the moment my creation returns so that I might secure his release from you."

Optimus nodded. "I will inform his commander of your request."

After Goldbug left Optimus remained at the table sipping what was left of his ener-tea. The meeting had not gone as well as he had hoped, but for a meeting with a minibot, it had gone quite well. Unfortunately, the brevity of the whole thing meant that he had been unable to discuss the relocation of the minibot population off-planet. Optimus did not imagine the inevitable discussion of that necessity was going to go over well at all. Maybe he would let Prowl sit in on that meeting.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Smokescreen rolled over on the couch and stared at his brother. Prowl, as usual, did not even twitch a wingtip. Smokescreen stared harder, and thought perhaps that Prowl's focus might have just become 'more intense' upon his data pad. Smokescreen sharpened his stare into a glare, and… Aha! There was the aggravated wing twitch and sidelong glance.

Now that he and the black and white's attention he could broach the topic that was weighing on his spark.

"We can't stay like this forever."

Prowl frowned faintly. "Of course not, at some point we will have to go to recharge."

Smokescreen snickered. "Not _this_ this. I meant that I can't stay on grief leave forever. At some point I will be required to return to duty and we will no longer have a caretaker for Bluestreak."

Prowl hummed as he processed that. "You are right. Your leave ends in another six orns doesn't it?"

"Mmhmm."

"Hmm." Prowl searched through possible solutions and Smokescreen went back to his bookfile until he was done. Rushing the senior tactician would do nothing but delay the process, which Smokescreen knew well from experience.

The blue and red Praxian was just about to fall into recharge when Prowl finished calculating. "There are several mechs who have expressed the desire to act as guardian and escort to our trinebrother. The Twins usually have early morning patrols and would only be capable of caring for Bluestreak after mid-orn. Ratchet and Red Alert both choose their own joors as the helms of their departments. And Jazz's shifts are mostly spent roaming around Tactical and Ops. I also think that Bluestreak would not mind if we brought him on-shift with us, provided we bring things for him to do, and would segue In nicely with the need to begin his education. What do you think?"

Smokescreen mulled it over, he had not been aware that quite so many mecha were interested in helping them. Although, he knew of at least two mechs that had not made the list and it was not to be done. There was no way he was going to be deprived of the blackmail material that watching two such powerful warriors all but melt in the presence of such a sweet mechling would yield.

"Sounds like a plan of action, but we gotta let and Prime and Ironhide have a turn too or we'll never hear the end of it."

Prowl gave a full chassis shudder before he was able to control the reaction.

"Ironhide is off base looking over a new batch of recruits and Prime is far too busy." He answered logically, all the while trying to delete the illogical image of Ironhide cuddling a youngling.

Smokescreen gave him an innocently confused look. "But both of them have asked me to keep them on our short list if we needed sitters."

Prowl twitched again and Smokescreen's faceplates morphed into a mischievous smile. "You pictures it didn't you."

Prowl's optics flickered and he twitches erratically. Then he slumped into the oncoming crash. Smokescreen snickered. "I'll just add them to the list shall I?"

There was no response from his downed brother.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Jazz left on his mission to Kaon Prowl wished him well and offered the appropriate wishes of luck. By the fourth decacycle of the saboteur's absence Prowl found himself sorely missing his friend's presence. He was constantly reaching for cubes that were not there, looking up every joor in expectance of seeing a dancing white frame saunter in to bother him, and desperately missing the stimulating conversations that always brightened his orn.

It was almost depressing how dependent Prowl had become on Jazz, relying on the saboteur for what little socialization he required. It was also quite the revelation for the Praxian to realize just how often he sought out the Polyhexian for advice and company when he found himself almost joorly going to Jazz's office only to realize he was not there. Prowl firmly denied himself the notion that it might be symptoms of something deeper. He would not drive his best friend away like that. Besides, it was unprofessional.

The fact that he was currently 'borrowing' Jazz's office was entirely not hypocritical at all.

Prowl justified it to himself by stating that the data he was currently working with needed an extra-secure environment, and what was more secure than an opsmecha's office? That he had only considered Jazz's office because he missed the mech had no bearing on the matter… really!

As Prowl tidied up his work for the orn and prepared to go home, he noticed something sticking out from under Jazz's desk. When he pulled the object out he realized it was a half-sized datapad, like those a sparkling or youngling might use. He was about to slide it back under, thinking that he had accidentally stumbled across one of Jazz's private younglinghood mementos, when he saw a familiar logo stamped in the upper corner. Prowl yanked it out of its hiding place and studied it closely. It was the insignia of a prominent Praxian secondary school, and Prowl knew for certain that Jazz had never attended such a school.

He turned it on to see what Praxian sparkling 'pad could be so interesting that Jazz would keep it rather than turn it over with the rest of the Praxian artifacts recovered on that darkest of dark-cycles.

What he saw nearly made him crash as his battlecomputer slotted the data into previously innocuous interactions and spun off new conclusions based on this new evidence. The story it painted was staggering and Prowl found himself rushing to finish packing up his work for the orn.

He had to talk to Smokescreen about this. _Now_.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bluestreak hopped happily along behind Sunstreaker as they walked to the rec room for last meal. For two decacycles now he had been 'liberated' from his home by a variety of sparklingsitters. Sometimes it was one or both of the Twins, sometimes it was Medic Ratchet, and sometimes it was the very nice Red Alert.

Bluestreak had been frightened at first, thinking that he was being abandoned again. However, Prowl had carefully explained to him that while they desperately wanted to spend all their time with him as a family, they had jobs they were required to do. Therefore, they had requested help of their friends and found him some caretakers to keep him from being cooped up all the time. His orns became full of adventure and learning, and Bluestreak felt his spark grow with joy every time he thought about how loved he was.

Despite the adventuresome life he was leading, Bluestreak's orns tended to be very structured. At first light he would rise and break fast with Prowl. Then they would go to either the black and white's or Smokescreen's office, where he would read the orn's lessons. If he had questions his trinebrothers made sure to set aside time to tutor him. At mid-orn fueling he sat with Optimus Prime and had a history lesson. Bluestreak really liked the Prime. Then, either the Twins or Medic Ratchet would take him for the rest of the orn. If Medic Ratchet picked him up Bluestreak knew they would like go see Wheeljack for a physics lesson and maybe a pretty lightshow from behind the protective steelglass shield in Wheeljack's lab. Bluestreak really, really liked the inventor, especially his side-finials, they flashed when he talked. In Bluestreak's high opinion, they were much prettier than Red Alert's flashy horns.

However, when the Twins got him there was never a set schedule. Sometimes Sunstreaker would take him to look at Iacon from the observatories and draw whatever caught their fancy. Other times he would help Sideswipe make energon shakes or plan pranks under Sunstreaker's intensely watchful gaze. At first the latter activity had bothered him as he did not think it was okay to be mean to any mech for any reason. Sideswipe had insisted that he, the Red Frontliner Extraordinaire, was the unofficial official morale officer, second to Jazz of course, and the pranks were an unsanctioned sanctioned manner of raising the Autobots' sparks. Bluestreak relaxed when Sideswipe promised only to involve him in the good-natured pranks, though that may have been because the tiny mechling's upset faceplates after a mean-sparked prank were enough to deter even the hardest spark. Bluestreak had begun to notice though, that the times when he was not allowed to help with pranking almost always preceded one of the minibots getting hurt in some sort of extremely embarrassing public manner. It was about the only time he wanted to hit his best friends.

Best Friends. Bluestreak loved that term. The Twins were prematurely upgraded to adult frames and were truly only marginally older than him. They had confided to him that they were really only fourth frame youngling one dark-cycle when Bluestreak had been crying for his own lost innocence. They held him through his memory purges like his trine did, but they shared with him their own loss and hurt. It made him feel so much better to be ensconced between their strong frames, listening to their thrumming spark until he calmed. Those moments usually happened after his light-cycle nap and often meant his last meal was delayed while he healed emotionally.

After the last meal of his orns Prowl and Smokescreen would take him home. They would ask about his orn, even the difficult parts where he cried, and either snuggle with him on the couch to watch a vid or play a board game on the floor. When Bluestreak got tired they would tuck him into his berth and Prowl would recite a story to him until he fell asleep.

The only change to the unbelievable functioning Primus had gifted him was during battles. If the evil, nasty Decepticons attacked somewhere that the Autobots controlled, it required Prowl and Smokey, and all his other caretakers, to report for battle-duty. His trine would bundle him up in a big blanket and stash a few of his toys in subspace, then take him to the Security Hub where Red Alert would watch over him until the attack was over. It had scared him how intense Red Alert could be in his defense of Autobot territory, but the CSO's prebonded told Bluestreak that it was just Red Alert's guardian protocols demanding perfect safety for the mechling in his care.

After that Bluestreak relaxed so much that Prowl and Smokey would often return to find him sleeping, snuggled into Red Alert's chassis while the CSO stroked his wee wings. Prowl mentioned that they were good therapy for one another after the first such incident and thereafter would drop Bluestreak off in the Security Hub for morning lessons on orns when he and Smokey had meetings.

Bluestreak's life was perfect, and was finally starting to believe he deserved it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After last meal had ended, and Bluestreak was put into his berth, Prowl pulled Smokescreen into his berthroom. He shoved a datapad into the blue and red mech's chestplates and said, "I found this in Jazz's office. Have you been meddling in my love life again?"

Smokescreen knew that he had been meddling and he had a sneaking suspicion as to what this datapad contained. He turned it on and his concern was confirmed. It was the courtship instruction manual.

Now, Smokescreen knew that if he admitted to interfering Prowl would refuse to court Jazz and there would be broken sparks everywhere. Technically, however, Smokescreen had not become involved until after Jazz had already begun his own plans and thus he had not _really_ meddled so much as corrected. Therefore, he had no problem with omitting certain truths in his reply.

"Where did Jazz get this? And no, I haven't meddled in your affairs since trying to help Wax-On set you up with that femme."

Prowl expelled the atmosphere trapped in his vents with an explosive sigh. "I found it under his desk. I think he has been trying to court me."

Smokescreen watched his brother begin to pace, wings twitching furiously, and knew that if he did not get Prowl verbalizing fast the mech was going to crash. "Ok, so, disregarding that you invaded an absent mech's personal workspace, tell me what you've put together to make you believe that a Polyhexian is courting you Praxian style."

Prowl did not stop pacing, but he did start talking. "For over a vorn now he has solicited me in the manner of a bija. All the things I would do for… before my code change, these he has done for me. He brings me fuel, he keeps me company. He has solicited my undivided attention on numerous occasions where it was not socially beneficial for him to do so. I ignored it because I knew, or I thought I knew, that he was unaware of what he was doing. Then I find this manual which makes me wonder if he did know, and was that perhaps Jazz who tried to court me as a prathama a while back, perchance thinking that because I did not respond to a bija's temptation that I myself was a bija, albeit with an extra strong will? Then I think about what might happen if I respond to his renewed temptations? What if he turns out like… _him_? What if he starts to resent the social strictures of my culture? Is he just doing it to get into my berth, or is this a functioning that he is truly choosing?"

Smokescreen grabbed Prowl by the pauldrons. "Whoa, whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Whether he wants our culture to become his is something that can, and definitely should, be discussed with him during the courtship. Second, I seriously doubt he is or will become, anything like Sentinel. In fact, I bet if you told Jazz how that mech treated you he would try to resurrect Sentinel to kill him himself. Lastly, whether or not you respond to Jazz should depend on only one thing."

Smokescreen waited until he had Prowl's full, complete attention. "Whether or not you love him and/or feel attraction for him."

Prowl gave Smokescreen the most pitiful look to ever exist in the history of Cybertron. It was the look of a drowning mech who had been thrown a life-preserver, but in order to touch it he would have to confess his deepest, darkest, most private secret.

The blue Praxian shook his helm. "Is that a yes?"

The pitiful drowning mech nodded.

"then you need to open the courtship. You remember how, right?"

The _still_ drowning mech shook his helm 'no'.

Smokescreen sighed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz peeked down through the vent into Shockwave's lab waiting for the area to be clear. The mono-opticked cannon was smart enough to learn from past infiltrations and replaced all of the mech-sized vents with multiple fist-sized vents, as well as posted a constant rotating guard. Jazz would only have a few moments to get back to the larger vents in the hall and slip inside behind the new guard. The poor grunt whose turn it was to watch over Shocky's house of horrors would have to be dealt with in a permanent manner, but that was no bother to the Jazz-meister. The currently grey mech waited patiently for his chance. It had been three and a half decacycles just getting into the base, another ten kliks was nothing.

The previous guard shifted on his peds and moved for the exit.

Jazz grinned; it was time.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bumblebee spider-crawled along the ceiling highway. Then he froze. Runabout and Runamuck flirted their way down the hall underneath him and the black camouflaged minibot made a mental note that the mechs Command had labeled brothers were likely bondmates with similar names. The two Decepticons passed out of sight and Bumblebee began moving again.

As he moved deeper into the underbelly of the base the corridors became narrower and the purple hue that the higher ranking 'Cons chose for their home bases became more sinister. Bumblebee had once heard a rumor that Shockwave had chosen to alter his paint nanites to match this favored color for the camouflage advantage it gave him. The minibot was almost sure it was true because there was no other _logical_ explanation for having such a flamboyant paint job.

The chance that the purple behemoth was lurking down here would have been worrisome if not for the surveillance tap Jazz had installed that clearly showed Shockwave in recharge on his berth. That and the way Bumblebee's ops-paint blended with the black ceilings made him confident in his movements. Bumblebee turned the last corner to the underground containment and dropped to the floor. His paint rippled and he was purple. In front of the minibot was a triple reinforced blast door that had not been on the schematic. The new addition, and its newness was quite obvious, was already blackened at the seams. This made an uneasy sensation appear in the small assassin's tanks; it seemed that the weapon was not quite stable yet, which was not a good sign for destroying it safely.

Bumblebee began to hack the lock and sent up a fervent prayer of protection to anyone who might be listening.


	8. Chapter 8: Orange Surprise

Chapter 3 of 3 of the triple post. Happy New Year!

Warnings: mentions of past experimentation on a child. Non-sexual spark merging.

* * *

Chapter 8:

BurnE stepped smartly into the lab and nodded to Lazar. Having to stand watch for joors in General Shockwave's labs was by far the most boring detail in the history of ever, and the poor Decepticons who lost the scheduling lottery would likely have spent the time goofing off if it were not for the punishment for doing so. At this point however, BurnE had spent so many shifts guarding the stark white rooms that the punishment was almost preferable. A mech caught slacking was turned over to the Armory for live target practice. The mechs that survived were promoted a level for their aptitude and those who succumbed were displayed in the common rooms as a warning to the rest of the Decepticons. BurnE was one promotion from lieutenant, and lieutenants never did guard duty, so it was obvious why these thoughts appealed to him.

BurnE's distraction with his possible promotion ended up being his downfall though, as an energon knife flew out of nowhere and impaled him through the spark. He was deactivated before he even hit the floor. Not that he actually was given the opportunity to strike the ground. A servo reached out and snagged the dead frame's collarstrut to prevent any alarms from being raised due to the noise. Jazz grinned at his servo-work and silently lowered his victim to the floor. He already had the cameras on a feedback loop of BurnE standing faithfully at attention, so he was free to work his dastardly wiles upon the room's computer. It was a good thing too, as Shockwave's favorite console, not that the logical sociopath would admit to having favorites, had been upgraded Soundwave because hacker Shockwave was not.

Slipping through all the traps and alarms took Jazz the better part of a joor, but then he was in with free range of everything that Shockwave had ever worked on. The computer believed him to be the purple behemoth so there were none of the usual encryptions on the data. Getting this lucky was a one in a thousand chance and Jazz rubbed his servos together with a silent evil chuckle. The only thing keeping Jazz from downloading the entire database was a small ping from Mirage noting that Shockwave's recharge cycle was almost over. Jazz quickly began searching through the recent files for information on Megatron's latest campaign. The opsmecha had chosen this console over Megatron's personal terminal due to the slightly easier access and more remote location. Megatron's computer was in the spark of Darkmount, while Shockwave was relegated to the wall sector due to the number of experiment failures resulting in melted, shattered, or vaporized walls. The mech was no Wheeljack, but it still got his labs banished to a sector of the base that could be replaced easier. Then there was the lack of need Shockwave felt for having separate consoles for tactical information and experiment logs.

When Jazz finished collecting the requisite information he still had a quarter joor before Shockwave arose from his dreamless, because dreams were illogical, recharge. So, the saboteur puttered around looking for anything else that might be of interest to the Autobots. He flipped through a dozen or so plans for mega-dooms-orn weapons, but he did not download them because the likelihood of them being built while Cybertron was at its current resource level was nil. Besides, most of them were completely ridiculous, and was that a schematic for a battlecruiser in the shape of a purple griffin?

Jazz shook his helm and made a note to tell Prowl that Shockwave was possibly not quite as logical as previously believed. The kliks were ticking down quickly now and Jazz was about ready to return to the weapons plans when an odd tag caught his optic. He opened it to confirm his suspicions, and verifying his fear as reality, began to download as fast as mechly possible.

He was just finishing with the last file when two alerts popped up on his HUD. The first was a two-klik warning for Shockwave's awakening; the second was a mild emergency call from Bumblebee. The latter meant that help was needed post-haste, but the minibot's functioning was not yet in danger.

Jazz booked it from the room and back up to the ceiling highways. Below him, invisible to sight and scanner, Mirage followed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As soon as Jazz and Mirage found Bumblebee they knew they were in trouble. The minibot was huddled inside a small lead reinforced cell holding a hysterical seekerlet. The mechling was perhaps a few centuries old, maybe third or fourth frame, but already it could be seen that he had his transformation cog. An early developer possibly.

Jazz crouched down in the open doorway and tried to look non-threatening. "Bee, ya wanna 'splain this?"

Bumblebee looked up sorrowfully. "He's the weapon."

Jazz sat stunned for a moment before finding his thoughts. "Come again."

"This was the lab listed as the weapon's storage room. When I entered I found him. He was recharging at the time so I checked that terminal over there to make sure I was in the right place. I wish I had not. Shockwave cloned him and a hundred others from a stolen piece of Starscream's spark, then experimented on them to induce a radiation-based Sigma Gift. All the seekerlings perished except him. His experiment was called 'Sunstorm' and he seems to respond to that designation. Jazz, Shockwave has accelerated his growth; he's only about three vorns old!"

Jazz was not sure how this situation could possibly get worse, but one thing was crystal clear. Sunstorm was coming with them. The saboteur scooted closer and stroked a digit s down the seekerlet's wing. "Hello winglet. Mah friend here wan's ta take ya wit' us cuz he thinks ya not safe here. Whacha think? Ya wanna come wit' us?"

The mechling peeked one optic out from where he had buried himself in Bumblebee's plating and studied the saboteur. Then he launched himself at Jazz and wrapped himself around the black and white. "Oh yes, yes, yes! Please take me with you!"

Jazz chuckled and hugged the ecstatic youngling back. "Good, then let's get'cha out 'o here."

The seekerling popped back up and ran over to his berth. He knelt down and pressed his forehelm to the ground. "Thank you for keeping your promise." He whispered.

"Uh, winglet? Whacha doin'?" Jazz questioned worriedly.

Sunstorm sat up with a beatific smile. "I'm thanking Primus for sending you."

"Primus?"

The seekerling nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Brother Starscream snuck in to visit me once and he told me to remember that Primus loves seekers best, that's why he gave us wings. So, I asked Primus to prove it; that if he loved me best, to send someone to save me. Then you showed up!"

Jazz just nodded. He certainly was not going to shatter what seemed to be a mostly healthy coping mechanism for a rather traumatized sparkling. It could have been much worse, he might have become a raving lunatic from all the experimentation. The seekerling's young mental age likely helped with that, and likely also meant a better chance at recovering.

The saboteur stood from his crouch and held out a servo. "Well younglin', if'n ya got'ya pray'rs done we should pro'lly get ah'selves out o' here."

Sunstorm reached up and almost took the proffered help, however, he changed his meta at the last klik. "Can I walk with Bumblebee instead?"

Jazz smiled gently and looked at his chagrinned spy out of the corner of his visor. "Well, if Bee don' mind?"

Bumblebee rolled his optics and motioned the winglet over. Sunstorm squee-ed at the consent and attached himself to the minibot's side. Mirage had to cover his lipplates to keep from laughing at the adorable sight of Bumblebee being glomped by a youngling only barely shorter than the minibot, and Jazz's huge grin told the noble that his commander was having the same problem.

Leaving the area however, was not nearly as easy as they needed it to be. Jazz knew that the youngling was not strong enough to manage a ceiling crawl through the whole base so they were going to have to walk, which meant the surveillance system would need dealt with. The Polyhexian moved over to the nearby terminal and hacked into the security system. He quickly put into place one of the emergency ops programs and set it to go off as soon as he logged out. The program would offline the cameras and begin to recycle old footage of the empty corridors and any tampering by the Decepticons to restore proper feeds would set off a cascade failure taking down the entire surveillance system for the whole base. Megatron would be so busy blaming the 'Cons working in the Security Center that the ops team would be well away before Soundwave would be able to calm him down enough to truly investigate. The program was rather an extreme measure to take and not one that Ops really wanted the Decepticons to know they could wield, however, getting the seekerlet out of the base was far more important.

Jazz looked over at his team as he logged out. "Fifteen kliks on tha chr'nometer mechs."

The foursome moved out with cautious all-haste.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz was beginning to see a pattern in the way Shockwave operated. The mono-opticked mech seemed to prefer to lull his enemies into a false sense of safety, then ambush them. This was made most apparent as the ops-team-plus-one made it closer to the surface levels.

The team had made a point of avoiding the easy traps that were lifts and instead chose the arduous climbs through the service tubes that ran alongside the lifts. They were just preparing to exit the last tube on that side of the base when a series of unfocused laser blasts grazed Jazz's horns. He quickly hunkered back down and motioned for the others to stop moving. After a moment of silent waiting a guttural vocalizer spoke forth. "We got ya trapped ya mangy 'Bots, now come out nice like and mebbe we's won't hurt ya, too bad."

Jazz rolled his optics under his visor, Decepticons got so melodramatic sometimes, and signaled for Mirage to come forward. A few hand signals passed between them and then Mirage shifted into the invisible spectrum. His peds and servos made no noise as he ascended, which left his three companions waiting tensely. The noble moved as quickly as he could, but silence took precedence. He completed his movements between their aggressively waiting enemies and retreated back to his team. He reappeared before them and nodded to Jazz. The saboteur removed a tiny flashbang from his subspace and gently tossed it out into the corridor. Laser fire reflected off the tube's walls as the Decepticons instinctively fired at the small silver orb, but none of their would-be captors were marksmechs. Thus the faint tink-tink of the flashbang could clearly be heard against the floor. The opsmecha, plus one, had all muted their audials though, and therefore did not hear it. Nor did they hear the wee bomb go off and trigger the small magnetic pulse grenades that Mirage had delicately sprinkled in the Decepticons' transformation seams. The reflected flash on the wall however, was more than enough to let them know of their success.

Jazz peeped the corner of his visor above the exit hatch. Six dead 'Cons greeted his sight and he leaned back down to look at Bumblebee and Sunstorm. "Sunny, buddy, Ah need ya ta climb on Bee's back n' shut ya optics off 'til Ah tell ya ta turn'm back on."

The youngling nodded quickly and scrambled to hoist himself onto the minibot's back. Once everyone was ready, and Jazz had checked the winglet's optics twice, they moved up. The service tubes that would take them to the surface, and eventually the extraction point, were at the opposite end of this level of the base. If there was any point of their exit strategy that would be deemed inadvisable, it was this part. In fact, Prowl had forbid the ops team from even trying this trek on any other path except the ceiling. He would definitely throw a fit and lock up if Jazz and company survived.

Jazz took a moment to hack the comm of one of the deactivated frames and listened to see if the ambush was focused or dumb luck. It seemed that luck was still with them as all the lifts were being guarded in general and their detection inside the tube had been random chance. The group that attacked them had also not radioed in the Autobots' presence and therefore their position was still unknown. Not wanting to lose this advantage Jazz magnetized the six deceased soldiers to the inside of the service tube where detection would be minimal.

Another skirmish a corridor over changed Jazz's meta about the wisdom of ignoring Prowl's warnings. Having to fight off almost a dozen mecha whilst a mech down, because there was no way Jazz was leaving the youngling in the open, was almost _too_ difficult. Also, he was pretty sure at least one of their attackers had been able to radio in their location. Fortunately, Bumblebee had hidden in a vent with Sunstorm before Jazz and Mirage engaged the ambush so no report of the seekerling's escape would be turned in yet. Unfortunately, they were going to have the entire Command Cadre on their taillights soon, which meant it was time for Plan Omega.

The team backtracked to the nearest lab and hacked in. Sunstorm had his optics closed and was being carried again. It was a precaution Jazz was thankful for when he finally opened the door. It was an experimentation chamber that they had stumbled into and the mech flayed out on the berth was only alive because external machines made it so. Jazz knew there was no way to save this victim, but as he motioned his team to protected positions he decided that neither would he leave he nameless mech to endless torture.

Jazz softly hacked into the mech's processor and pinged his ident code to the barely functional meta. It pinged back with a familiar designation. Windtalker. Jazz knew the mech, he was an operative stationed in Helex. The mech had been listed KIA a few metacycles back, but clearly the information had been false. The saboteur sent the mech a status update on his condition and asked what Windtalker would like Jazz to do about it.

The barely coherent mech transmitted several intel files for Jazz to take back to Ops, then asked for a painless deactivation. Jazz nodded both physically and mentally, it was an opsmech's duty to do this for his brethren. He was in the process of disconnecting when Windtalker sent over one more message. Make sure the Decepticons could not access his deactivated frame's processor. Windtalker's information was not to be compromised. Jazz sent back an affirmative and a wave of well-wishes for the coming journey to Primus.

The saboteur divided his chest plates and exposed his spark chamber. He leaned over his opsbrother's ruined chest and touched their chambers together. Jazz pulsed out slowly, softly, covering the injured spark in comforting waves of energy. When Windtalker's spark accepted the presence Jazz reached up and pinched off the primary emerging lines to the dying mech's sparkchamber. Without energon Windtalker's spark faded quickly, but unlike the normal starvation fade, there was no agony. The spark felt only a soothing sensation akin to being rocked into recharge.

When it was done Jazz pulled and his we'd to his fallen brother. Then he cut out the empty spark chamber as completely as he could and subspaced it. The rest of the frame was too big to take with them, but this one piece would be given the full burial honors due a fallen soldier of Cybertron. Lastly, he searched around until he found a large beaker of strong acid which he then used to destroy the primary processors surrounding the spark chamber's former location and the secondary ones in the mech's helm. There would be no way for Shockwave to hack the deactivated opsmech now.

Fulfilling his opsbrother's last wish was going to haunt Jazz's recharge for a while, but there was no time to deal with it now so the saboteur firewalled it away for later. He moved to the outer wall and took out his largest blast charges. He shaped the explosion carefully so the majority of the explosive force would be directed into the wall, not into the closed room his team was huddled in. He set it for a one look timer and scurried back to a shelter of his own.

The explosion was loud, but the room was soundproof so Jazz did not worry too much about it. He looked back to see if the charges had been successful and his spark leapt at seeing the smog filled atmosphere of lower Kokular. Then a blast plate slid down to seal the opening. The finality of it clicking into place echoed the despair welling up in Jazz's spark; they had no charges strong enough to break through that plate and there was not enough time left to find another exit.

A small servo touched his armguard and Jazz looked down. Sunstorm looked back solemnly. "I can fix it."

Jazz was going to ask the seeker lung what he meant, but he moved away before the saboteur could form the words. What happened next left them all speechless and slightly horrified. The little seeker touched the blast plate and closed his optics. Then he began to _glow_. Jazz's scanner picked up a sharp spike in solar radiation levels and almost reached out to stop the seekerling. Solar was the only type of radiation to which Cybertronians were susceptible and it would surely begin to melt Sunstorm any nanoklik. However, when the seekerling continued to register as unharmed on the focused scans Jazz swept over the bitlet, he allowed him to continue. Whatever Shockwave had done to make the sparkling a living weapon had obviously included making him impervious to self harm. The thought did not make Jazz want to kill the behemoth any less, but perhaps he would make it slightly less lengthy. It was least he could do.

The orange glow Sunstorm projected at the plate did not seem to do anything, then melted through it all at once. The little seeker wavered from his focused effort and wished that he had permitted more energon earlier. When he had been taken outside the first time to test his powers he had been allowed full tanks, but all other times he was barely fed. He had asked once if he could have more and the Purple Maker had informed him that he could have full, not-hungry tanks when he learned to completely control his powers. His thoughts of hunger faded into black as he collapsed from his efforts.

Bumblebee caught the no longer glowing chassis of his rescuee. He hugged the youngling to help s chestplates and followed Jazz out into the dark of Kaon's underworld.

It was past time to get home.


	9. Chapter 9: The Small Reveal

So, once again I owe all my readers a huge apology for my late posting. I have no excuses as I finished handwriting it around the 20th of January and just never got around to typing it up.

Therefore, there will be this post, AND another post for February.

Warnings: short chapter is short.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 9:

The Rust Sea. A festering wound left to infection from the time of Unicron, it was a vast roiling, orange blemish on the side of Primus' body. Feared by most Cybertronians as a source of plague and disease, it was avoided by all. Or at least almost all. The aquatic and amphibious frames could tell amazing stories of vast ecosystems beneath the opaque waves. The average Cybertronian would scoff at their obvious insanity and move on, completely disregarding how these Rust Sea nomads could possible know of this.

When the Autobot Ops Division began planning excursions into the deeper parts of Decepticon territory they were constantly hampered by this great body of fluidic rust. Until one orn when a well-placed, i.e. lost, agent stumbled across one of the nomadic camps. The free-sparked mecha had welcomed the wayward spy with open arms and sheltered for the dark-cycle. It was during the ornly shindig, after copious amounts of homebrewed highgrade had been consumed, that the aquatic-formers began to share their tales. Now, this particular opsmech was smarter than most, and did not dismiss the stories as highgrade delusions. No, instead he waited until morning when the camp was sober and asked them to show him these wonders. They had fervently agreed with the proposal and began the preparations for a community swim.

Being dumped helm first into an oil bath had not been an expected step for the ops agent, but as the aquatics explained, the oil, derived from rendered chromeshark, would protect the divers from the rust for a full orn.

The undersea habitats were as marvelous as promised, but it was the treasure of the oil that the spy brought back to the Autobots.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz was not one for history files, but as team finished pulling themselves out of the rusty liquid he could not help sending down a prayer of thanks to that nameless spy for his forward thinking. The Decepticons had never explored the reasoning behind the aquaticformers legends and therefore would never think to look for escaping Autobot spies in a deadly ocean. The last the saboteur had seen of their pursuers, they were turning west through the wastes bordering the sea.

The Autobots checked one another over for rust spots and clinging critters then did the same for their still unconscious seekerling. Then they dashed off to their hidden shuttle. Provided they did not run into any 'Con patrols, they would be back in Iacon in a few joors.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sunstorm opened his optics and blinked in the bright lights. Once his optics recovered from being nearly blinded he could see that he was on a really comfy berth in a big white room filled with other berths. The room smelled of antiseptic and there was lots of equipment tucked between the berths. For a short moment he panicked, thinking that he was still in the Purple Maker's lab, but the lab technician that rushed over to him had the same red symbol as his rescuers.

It dawned upon the seekerling that he must be with the Autobots. He had fallen into temporary stasis after melting that wall, so he did not get to see their return to Iacon. He felt vaguely disappointed by that, but it was overshadowed by the abandonment he felt. He knew that the adult mechs probably had a lot to do and could not stay with him all orn. He had, however, hoped that they would be there when he woke up.

A big white and red mech approached his berth while he was moping and began to speak to him. "Hello little one, I'm Ratchet, the Chief Medical Officer for the Autobots. It's good to see you awake, you were quite low on energon when Bumblebee brought you in. We've topped off your tanks and checked you over thoroughly. If you don't have any warnings or alerts popping up we can begin getting you out of here and into your new life of freedom."

The doctor's tone was soft, assured, and it soothed Sunstorm's frayed sensors. Then what he said registered. The little seeker in-vented frantically. "No! I can't have a full tank! You gotta take some out! I'm too dangerous when I'm above thirty percent!"

Ratchet put a gentle servo on the youngling's shoulder. "I did an in-depth scan myself after Jazz reported what you can do, and from what I can tell, unless you choose to expel radiation, you won't. Proof positive of that is that you have not burned me yet. Either before or after regaining consciousness."

The youngling looked down at the servo contact in shocked wonder and began to question what else the Purple Maker had said that might be a lie.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Shortly after beginning the standard ops debrief Blackshot realized that the whole of Command needed to hear the report first-servo.

Because of the sensitivity of the report, Command received the rare invitation to gather in one of the Ops planning rooms. The officers trickled in one by one and stood by the usual rankings, as there were no chairs. The Prime and Prowl were the last, and Jazz fought down a twinge of sad jealousy at how close their helms were, the two discussing some thing on Prowl's datapad.

The Polyhexian stood with his team in the middle of the room with an idling holoprojector between them. When the full complement of expected attendees was reached Jazz got the go-ahead nod from Blackshot.

The saboteur cued up the first of his stolen prizes and began. "A few joors ago mah team n' Ah returned from Kaon, depths o' tha underworld n' unspark o' tha Unmaker, with potentialleh devestatin' news. We were tasked wit' findin' tha source o' tha 'Cons new weapon n' tha masterplan fo' Megatron's new campaign. We succeeded in both.

"As ya c'n see by dis map, Megatron is plannin' a progress've sweep across tha lower half o' tha planet wit' tha intent ta kill us off piecemeal. Every stronghold he takes is immediately meched by Shockwave's drones, leavin tha armeh intact fo' tha next battle."

Optimus raised a servo to pause the debriefing. "Prowl, this data is yours to deal with, completion of Megatron's campaign is not to be allowed. In the past I have always asked of you to find strategies that would result in the least loss of sparks, this has hampered you greatly, I know. I ask you to do so again, but all other limiters I remove from you."

Prowl acknowledged his orders, and having already begun the preliminary stages in suspicion of this very result, he began to work the stolen knowledge into his counter-campaign's framework.

Optimus nodded for Jazz to continue and the saboteur complied. "Kay, so, we also managed ta acquire tha data fo' tha 'Cons new weapon."

Wheeljack could be seen rubbing his servos together in anticipation and it made Jazz smile, he really hated to burst the engineer's bubble. "As it turned out, tha weapon was'a sparklin'."

The proverbial gears could fairly be heard screaming to a halt as everyone registered that. Then the yelling started.

"What do you mean it was a sparkling?!"

"Low down, pitscrap, worthless, rust bucket, gear-lickin', gits of a prostibot!"

"Where did they even get a sparkling in the first place?"

The last question came from Thundercall, the Autobot Air Commander. He and his trine were full-sparked seekers and had the typical highly protective subroutines demanding safety for all sparklings and younglings. Jazz almost cringed knowing what he was going to have to tell them.

"Shockwave cloned'em. Tha bitlet n' 'bout a hundred otha's were cloned from a stolen piece o' Starscream's spark. Shockers then played around wit' tha natural frequencies o' tha little sparks, manipulating their frames, n' generally did a lot o' unacceptable thing ta 'em, until onleh tha one sparklin' was left. Tha one who survived has a artific'lly induced solar radiation Sigma Gift."

Jazz paused to brace himself, but had to continue quickly before the room erupted again. "When we found him, we couldn' assass'nate him, it went against everythin' we stand fo'. So, we brought him, n' all tha info'mation 'bout him, back wit' us."

Shock permeated the room and Prowl leaned forward. "Is his weapon dangerous to his person?"

"Cording ta Ratchet, tha bitlet's frame is 'ntireleh comprised o' space grade alloys n' would onleh be dangerous if he used his powers fo' long periods o' unin'trupted time."

Thundercall stepped forward before anyone else could comment. "My trine and I would be honored and overjoyed to care for the seekerling."

"What about your current ward?" Optimus asked neutrally. He would like to place the orphan seeker with his own kin, but not at the detriment of another.

The Air Commander raised a staying hand at the sage question. "Our sparkling is a minibot shuttle and even at his young age he already possesses his natural space grade armor. We have also discussed getting him a sibling several times. He is alone in our aerie and that is not good for his emotional development."

The Prime gave his consent to their request and looked back to Jazz in question. "Is there more we should know?"

Jazz plugged in the last files he had acquired from Shockwave's console. "Well, we also discovered tha' Shockers' is tryin' ta rediscovah gestalt technology. He's close, but not there yet. Mirage can elab'rate more on this."

The noble moved forward and took over the narrative from Jazz. "This data was initially collected during the Tarn Infiltration two vorns ago, but was thought to have been entirely destroyed during the bombing that eliminated the Decepticon ground-bridges. Ordinarily, such a set-back would result in Megatron ordering Shockwave to abandon his research for more quickly attainable projects. However, the notion that he might be able to duplicate the Constructicons has become tantalizing to the Decepticon Lord, and he has ordered Shockwave to spare nothing in his pursuit of it, with the exception of direct experimentation on the Constructicons themselves."

Optimus looked over the collected data carefully. He had dabbled in many fields as a youngling before falling in love with history, so he understood at least the basics of the proffered information. "Turn this data over to Science and Engineering."

The Prime turned to the helms of those departments. "Perceptor, Wheeljack, I want this to be a top priority. Having our own gestalts, or at least preventative technology, will be imperative should Shockwave succeed."

He looked around one last time, and seeing no further questions or comments, Optimus dismissed them with a reminder that the contents of the meeting were top secret and not be discussed even with their Seconds.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bumblebee made his way to the temporary housing his creators had been given. The Prime had pulled him aside at the conclusion of the briefing and informed of his sire's requests. It made the yellow minibot burn. His sire had always disapproved of his choice to join the army, but this attempt to use a horrific crisis to superimpose his will on his creation was unacceptable.

Bumblebee loved his sire and knew that Goldbug loved him back. They had once possessed a close, congenial relationship and Bumblebee had thought there was no one greater in the world than his sire. It had shocked the, then, newly matured minibot that his sire was so emphatically against his creation becoming a soldier of Cybertron. The subsequent quarrels drove an almost insurmountable wedge between and resulted in Bumblebee leaving home assuming he would be summarily disinherited.

That, as it now turned out, was not the case.

The master assassin almost hesitated at his sire's door, but his anger overrode his trepidation. He girded his metaphysical loins and switched his thought patterns over to Lord Bumblebee, Crown Prince of the Minibot Underrealm. The only vestiges of his real life that remained were the smudges on his armor from his recent mission, and he left those to remind his sire that they were all commoners regardless of their self-appointed titles.

The door opened.

* * *

Every1'sBeta: okay, so very much to answer here, but I will try. The Optimus/Elita is not going to go as canon, I don't want to give away how, but I can say that much. It will certainly be a plot device in the next story in the saga. The ideas about Blue, Sunstorm, Ironhide, and Ratchet all get a huge thumbs up and are even now being noted on the side for future chapters, hopefully some, if not all, will make in. Shovel Talks! I totally forget about those, I will definitely be adding some, I think even Prime might get in on the action, *wink,wink*. Mirage will get his dues, have no fear.

Thanks also to RainbowGuardian13 and Avaya, your encouraging notes always help me to keep writing.


	10. Chapter 10: And the Plot Progresses

Ok, so, 5 and a half months of writers block is completely unacceptable and it has been really frustrating. However, I think I may have finally gotten over it and back into my writing groove. Hopefully, some of my faithful readers are still around to enjoy the rest of the story.

Thanks for your patience and enjoy the next chapter. There will be more to come soon.

Author's Note: it seems that FF dot net ate my section dividers. Hopefully it will leave them in this time.

* * *

Chapter 10:

Bumblebee stood tall with his servos clasped behind his chassis as he surveyed the room imperiously. The quarters afforded to his creators were usually for visiting officers of significant rank, and were therefore very well appointed. His sire was lounging on the standardized couch in the suite's common area and was speaking with his personal secretary, Chalice. Goldbug looked up from his work and motioned for Bumblebee to approach with a smile. Unfortunately, a rather heavy, likely sentient, object glomped the yellow minibot and ruined his perfect poise.

He stumbled under the friendly assault and looked down. Ah, his carrier. Hornet was rather short, even for a minibot, and barely stood to his creation's shoulders. Bumblebee turned in the black and orange's embrace and snuggled in as best he could. Now that his carrier's faceplates were no longer buried in his back, Bumblebee could hear Hornet murmuring about missing him so much, so very, very much. And could he and his sire please make up so that he could visit his bitlet without needing the intervention of a massacre.

Bumblebee smiled and relaxed. His carrier was the most perfect mech to ever walk the surface, or underrealms, of Cybertron. Perfectly patient, perfectly diplomatic, perfectly wise, perfectly loving. Hornet had been, and likely always would be, Bumblebee's greatest counsel and rolemodel.

The happy moment was broken by a tap on Bumblebee's shoulder. His sire gave them an indulgent look and waved to the couch. "We have many matters to discuss my creation, and not much time before we leave."

Bumblebee resisted the urge to roll his optics, his sire would never respect his decisions if he gave in to sparkling-like behavior. The lounge was more comfortable to sit on than the yellow assassin expected, and he highly suspected that it had been appropriated from the Prime. He watched him sire sit down next to him as though they were still on good terms with one another, but he said not a word. He would _not_ be initiating this conversation. Let his sire do all the work of carrying a conversation; it made the work of speaking tactfully and tactically much easier.

And apparently Bumblebee's little bit of rebellion was not even noticeable as Goldbug spoke without even a frown at his creation's odd taciturnity. "It is good that you have come home my youngling. The Prime has attempted to deny my sovereignty and continue to hold you captive to his service. Now that our people are few, the refugees given alms at the fickle pleasure of the Prime, I know that you will wish to do your duty by them. We have been _informed_ by his highness that Cybertron is no longer fit for our presence, and we are to be shipped off to asylum on some Primus forsaken moon! Since the Autobots have deigned to give us but a few more orns to say goodbye to our homeworld, you will need to be quick about your resignation and pack your belongings."

This. This right here was why he always ended up in a shouting match with his sire. Bumblebee swallowed the first, and then the second and third, retort he wanted to utter. Why was it that his sire always acted as though Bumblebee's deference and compliance was assured? Bumblebee was the crown prince for Primus sake! A mech who was expected to rule a kingdom could _not_ be so pliant and expect to reign well!

Bumblebee shunted his increasingly angry thoughts to a side-thread and composed a tactful reply. "Sire, I will always love you and carrier, and when you need me I will come for you. However, neither of you need me in this, and I am still needed by the Autobots. I cannot leave them at this time, it would be a betrayal of my oath."

Hornet looked sad despite his smile and Bumblebee knew then that his carrier would support him. Goldbug on the other servo? Not so much.

The shiny Lord of the Minibots was turning a fetching shade of fuchsia in his upset, but then it disappeared. Ah, obviously his sire was going to attempt diplomacy now. "Your carrier and I appreciate your continued care for us despite your long absence. However, your oath as a Prince of the Underrealm supersedes all others. It is time to begin your training as heir to my throne. The training is time-consuming and we have put it off long enough. Attempting a long-distance course is impossible as well, as such would compromise the security of our temporary colony. Surely you would wish to rule your people well and not fail them when the time comes?"

Well,… Bumblebee did have an answer to that, but his sire would not like it. His plan had been in place for vorns, but the timing for announcing it was not now. The recent exodus was throwing off his timetable and there would be little time to warn Thorn of the acceleration, and its fallout.

Bumblebee sighed in feigned resignation. "You are right sire, I must do what is right and best for our people. However, I have been gone so long that my position as heir will have to be ratified before the people, lest they think ill of me."

Goldbug waved a dismissing servo. "That ritual is merely a formality, it is not necessary…"

"No!" Bumblebee interrupted fervently. "Now of all times it is important that we uphold our traditions and culture. If we let ourselves forget in favor of expedience, we will have lost ourselves in the haste of the emergency."

So much of Bumblebee's plan rode upon his sire staying true to minibot high court standards, and it was hard to reign in his desperation. His sire pondered his imploring insistence, but, like most all minibots, he was traditional to a fault. "Very well, it will appear good before the people to see you so dedicated to our ways even at this stage. We will have the gathering at the beginning of tomorrow's dark cycle. Go now and finish your affairs with the government of the Prime."

Bumblebee rose and bowed to Goldbug. "Yes, sire."

The yellow minibot did not waste time in exiting the suite, and as soon as he turned the first corner he slumped against the wall with a sigh of relief. He opened a comm to his co-conspirator and was apprising him of the coming event when an incoming call interrupted them. He opened the commline and listened for a moment, then hightailed it to the medical wing.

.-..-..-..-.

Jazz scrubbed furiously at his plating to remove the last bits of detritus from this mission. Some of the energon from the 'Cons had caked on to his armor and become a sticky trap for particulates in the Rust Sea. The two had combined to form a particularly itchy plaque on his plating. Scrubbing it off fulfilled both the urge to scratch and the need to remove the marks of battle.

Once the last offending area was clean Jazz stepped out and under the dryers. He contemplated going back to his quarters to rest, but he had some observations that he needed to get down on a pad before he lost them. He would drop the datapad off with Prowl to be added to his report, then go to berth. He knew his beloved friend would appreciate the additional information for his analyses;

With that plan of action in meta, Jazz left the wash racks and headed to his office. He forewent polishing and buffing because of his fatigue, but as he entered Tactical he thought he might have erred in that decision. Prowl was at the central holographic tac-table and had looked up when Jazz arrived. The saboteur's appearance must have been worse than expected because Prowl's doorwings flicked in blatant concern, though his brow barely creased in corresponding emotion, and Jazz's presence of meta nearly left the stratosphere as he fixated on those beautiful appendages. Prowl paused his simulation and moved over to Jazz, causing the out-of-it mech to jerk his attention away from his increasingly amorous thoughts. Now was not the time to fantasize. It was very difficult as Prowl's proximity increased. The Tac-Helm exuded protective dominance and did not so much as loom as seem to curl concernedly around Jazz, despite not changing posture at all.

The Polyhexian was so distracted by Prowl's mechliness that he nearly missed the softly intoned query. "Are you well Jazz? Should you not be in your quarters resting?"

Jazz gave a tired, relaxed smile. "Yeah, Ah'm fine Prowler, jus' got some stuff Ah need ta get out o' mah meta while it's still fresh, ya kno'?"

Prowl nodded hesitantly and stepped back out of the Polyhexian's way. "Do not overstress yourself trying to 'get that stuff out of your meta'. I would hate to need to call upon Ratchet so soon after your return."

Jazz snickered at the obvious quotation marks hovering around Prowl's words and nodded. "Ya got it Prowler, anehthin' fo' ya."

Jazz moved onward to his office; feeling sharply the intense gaze that followed his progress. Jazz entered the room and locked the door behind him. He leaned against the doorframe and scrubbed a servo down his faceplates. He was so tired, and that much exposure to a mech he could not yet, maybe never, have was almost lethal. He was seriously contemplating a nap on his sofa when something on his desk caught his optic.

He stared. Then pushed off from the door to stare some more. Circling the desk to look from different angles did not help the sight either.

To all appearances some mech had left him a gourmet platter of energon treats. The only mech with the codes to be able to do this had been left just outside the office and the intense stare suddenly made so much more sense. His spark was circling Cybertron at light speed when a sobering thought entered his meta, what if Prowl had only left this because he thought Jazz might be hungry after his mission? They were best friends, and friends looked after one another. Jazz also had never made a secret of love of goodies. He drooped. That was probably all it was, just friendly concern, nothing to get excited over.

The black and white was about to dig into his food with depressive gusto when he noticed that the treats, and accompanying drink, seemed to be arranged in a specific pattern…

Jazz shook his helm and subspaced the entire tray. He was going to take a nap now, and then he was going to see a femme. He was far too tired to deal with this right now, and he was not going to chance that this was all an exhaustion induced hallucination. If he was right, then he needed a clear helm to deal with it.

.-..-..-..-.

The Medical Wing. A shiny, white realm of healing and safety. Or at least it was supposed to be. It was definitely shiny and white, and certainly a realm of healing. However, it was far from safe.

Mecha who transferred in from other bases, or were newly registered, assumed it would be like the friendly hospitals and comforting clinics of their pasts. They swiftly learned better when they entered the Lair of the Hatchet™.

Within this brightly lit cavern lurked a ferocious dragon who breathed profanity harsh enough to melt the strongest ego and threw around wrenches and foolish soldiers like lawn darts. Those who knew of the Hatchet's ire tread carefully and ducked for cover when those who did not respect the beast were near.

Bumblebee was one of those mecha in the know and felt justified in the creeping manner in which he entered the medbay. He peeked carefully around the open (_they were never open!_) doors to the Medical Wing. He saw no one, so, Bumblebee leapt, rolled, and then ducked behind a sturdy medberth. The yellow assassin peeked over the berth-top to survey the room. Empty.

_Where were the doctors and nurses?!_

Dread crept down Bumblebee's dorsal column. The Hatchet was lying in wait for minibot energon.

Bumblebee looked around for a safe route across the danger zone, but the Hatchet had long ago circumvented possible escape by any wily special operations agents. The ceilings were high and completely smooth, not even the brilliant lights afforded any servo holds. The vents were tiny and embedded in the floor. There were no shadows, no hidey holes, and no rescue.

Bumblebee was doomed.

He still attempted to cross the room without detection.

The yellow opsmecha made it all the way to the private room labeled with the little seekerling's glyph and was breathing a vent of relief, when a heavy weight descended upon his shoulder. Bumblebee whirled around and slammed his back against the door with a hunted look. Storm grey and orange plating met his optics and the minibot nearly collapsed with the exventing of his terror. "Oh good, its only you Air Commander."

Thundercall smiled in obvious amusement. "Ratchet wants to see you before you talk with the winglet."

_Jerk_, Bumblebee thought, _see if he was so happy when an energon-thirsty Hatchet was feasting on his spark!_

Then the Autobot seeker's words registered and Bumblebee's energon froze.

.-..-..-..-.

Jazz could not recharge.

He tossed and he turned. He pounded his pillow and tried lying without it. Covers on, covers off. Nothing was working. Every time he thought he might be close to dropping off, thoughts of the goody tray filled his meta.

Thoroughly disgusted with his lack of ability to recharge, Jazz arose with a snarl and stormed out of his room. He schooled his features to pleasantness and slowed his angry stalk to a confident slink as he moved through the base. It would not be wise to frighten the natives.

A short trip and he was in the under-ground. Jazz knew that Solaris and his ward were currently on guard duty and therefore would be in the Gallery, as opposed to recharging like everyone else. As the black and white moved in that direction he ceased to silence his movements. Solaris would detect him far before Jazz was close and his heightened state of agitation made it too much work to bother trying to sneak up on the triplechanger. It was a good exercise for his ops skills, but not at a time like this.

And sure enough, just before Jazz reached the last tunnel, the black, red, and gold femme melted out from the darkness. "Jazz, my friend, what brings you to the city of the femmes at this time of the dark cycle?"

The Polyhexian looked around uncomfortably. "Ah found a gift in mah office when Ah got back from mah mission."

Solaris' optics lit up and his wings fluttered. "Jazz that's wonderful! What did you get? A courtship is often determined by its first offering, so it is important that you tell me exactly what you received."

Before Jazz could reply or take the platter from his subspace he was tackled by a very enthusiastic youngling. "Jazz! You came to visit! How have things been up top? Has Prowl responded to your temptations yet?"

Jazz was bewildered by the flurry of questions and thought to himself that they should get the femmeling enrolled in an interrogation class, anymech would start answering if for no other reason than to get Windblade to be quiet.

Solaris on the other servo chuckled at his ward's behavior. "Calm down little one, Jazz is here to tell us of the gift he received this very orn."

Windblade's optics turned luminous as he faced the saboteur and his little servos balled up into fists as they came to rest under a quivering little white chin. It was the epitome of _gimme, gimme_, and Jazz was helpless to resist it. The black and white pulled the platter from his subspace and held it out for the femmes to examine. The cube and its surrounding delicacies glowed brightly in the low light, which made their specific placement all the more obvious. Both of the Praxians took a shocked in-vent.

"Jazz, you need to think really hard right now about what exactly you want from Prowl." Solaris whispered reverently.

Jazz slumped. "It's'a r'jection isn' it. It's'a fraggin' Praxian friendship zonin' isn' it!"

"No! For Primus sake Jazz! He's asking you for a bond courtship!" Windblade exclaimed.

Solaris gave the younger femme a stern look, he had not intended to spring that information on the hapless Polyhexian quite so suddenly. Jazz's visor widened and he swayed dangerously. Solaris moved forward to catch the saboteur if he fell, but was shakily waved off.

Jazz cycled his vents a few times with deliberate slowness. "Really?" he asked with fragile hope evident.

Solaris smiled. "Yes Jazz, Prowl is seeking to see if you are worthy of a bond. Each of the parts of this platter have a different meaning starting with the intertwined glyph of your names that the placements spell out. It indicates that this offer of courtship is specific to one mech, you, and is not open to just any one. The cube of energon is a promise to provide for you; the spicy treats signify that your combined lives will never be monotonous; the sweet centered sour balls promise that he will try to always reconcile with you in cases of quarrels. The crystal chunk squishes are a request to keep him flexible as he provides you with a protective frame work of stability; and the rust sticks are a promise to stay strong and true to each other as you grow old."

Jazz stared down at the tasty declaration of affection in wonder. "How do Ah say yes?"

The femmes smiled…

.-..-..-..-.

Unlike his earlier trek through the Medical Wing, Bumblebee's trip to Ratchet's office was swift. If the CMO summoned you, you dropped everything to attend. It was still a shaky servo that rose to knock on the door. An indeterminate bark conveyed Ratchet's permission to enter. Bumblebee entered with a dive behind the nearest visitor torture device, one commonly known as a chair.

"Lieutenant Bumblebee reporting as ordered, sir!" he squeaked.

A hefty snort greeted that and a small L-wrench ricocheted off the back to ping off Bumblebee's helm. "Get your aft up here and stop hiding like a glitchmouse."

The minibot stood, rubbing the sore spot on his forehelm, and carefully situated himself on one of the most uncomfortable seating devices ever created. He tried to look small and pitiful in hopes that the Hatchet might have mercy on him, but he only earned another snort.

"So," Ratchet began. "I have, out there, a very delicate youngling whose mental health is very poor and who will need the focused attention of his kin to grow up properly. Yet, I can't give him to the foster trine who so dearly desire to adopt him, and apparently, this is all your fault."

Bumblebee shrunk down into a tiny ball. "H-how is that?"

Ratchet stood up and loomed. "Because he imprinted on you!"


	11. Chapter 11: Mechs Make Moves

Hello again!

As promised, here is more! (Also, the missing section dividers from the previous chapter should be back in.)

* * *

Chapter 11:

Bumblebee peeked into the door of the little seekerling's room. His seekerling now, apparently. According to Ratchet, seeker sparklings imprinted on the first mech to touch them with loving intent. The repeated accelerated upgrades had exacerbated the imprint need to the point that any touch would have resulted in imprinting. From the notes the CMO acquired from Jazz's intel, Shockwave had purposely kept him in a cage to create this phenomenon with the intent to have Sunstorm imprint upon Megatron to ensure loyalty. When Bumblebee opened the cage he ruined that permanently. Hopefully Shockwave would never find out.

Being the caretaker of a sparkling was never something Bumblebee had ever imagined would happen to him, much less a _seeker_ sparkling trapped in a youngling's body. It was this reasoning that had the minibot looking with such trepidation into the room of his new, and first, charge.

Sunstorm was currently held in the thrall of a classic fairytale as told by Thundercall. He looked so animated as his optics flashed and winglets twitched in synchrony with the exciting parts of the tale, and Bumblebee feared ruining that. The bitlet could have had a seeker family, kin, those who could teach him properly of his own kind. Instead, he was stuck with a lowly minibot. The irony of an under-dweller being caretaker to a skyling was certainly not lost on Bumblebee.

And there was that too, Bumblebee was Ops and prone to being sent on lengthy, dangerous missions. What kind of life was that for a vulnerable, delicate mechling?

Some noise must have given him away, as two solar-gold optics affixed themselves to his faceplates and the owner of the optics flared up tiny thrusters to throw himself at the yellow assassin. As Bumblebee was bowled over by the two-thirds-his-size seekerling he felt his spark thrum with warm joy. He could not help but surround his youngling with his arms to snuggle closer.

Sunstorm looked up at Bumblebee with luminous optics. "Are you really gonna be my Kahti?"

The minibot frowned slightly in confusion and looked up at the snickering Thundercall for clarification.

"Kahti is Vosian for adopted caretaker." the Air Commander said as he helped the pair up from their sprawl.

Bumblebee nodded and looked back down at his seekerling. "Yes Sunny, I am going to be your Kahti."

Sunstorm squealed and buried his faceplates in Bumblebee's neck. "I love you."

Bumblebee pet the back of Sunstorm's dorsal column and sighed heavily. "I love you too bitlet, but we gotta talk some things over. I'm not a seeker, I can't teach you seeker customs or even how to fly, and I have a really important job here that is going to take me away from you a lot and we gotta figure out how all of that is going to work…"

Thundercall put a servo on Bumblebee's shoulder. "My trine and I have already volunteered to be his mentors and temporary caretakers when you are not available. Do not worry about anything. You are kin now, because of your relationship with Sunstorm and will be cared for as such. Go home now to your quarters and rest with your youngling. Tomorrow will take care of itself."

Bumblebee nodded, and then froze again. His roommate was Cliffjumper, world's staunchest believer in the inherent evil of Decepticons, and especially seekers. How on Cybertron was he going to explain this?

.-..-..-..-.

Smokescreen was waiting for Prowl outside his office when he arrived the next morning.

They nodded greetings to one another, then Smokescreen turned to follow his little brother into the office.

Prowl suddenly forgot that he needed to get something from data storage and walked the other direction.

Blue and red doorwings perked like a chronowolf's finials during the hunt. Their owner followed the black and white whowas not fleeing, at all, really.

Prowl made it to data storage, but his 'little friend' was still there. Hmm, the important thing he needed to get was suddenly remembered as having been dropped off with an associate and Prowl turned again.

Blue and red wings continued to follow.

Back and forth, this way and that way over there, Prowl fled, ran, _searched_ for the important thing.

When Prowl had asked the same poor confused underling the same question three rotations of the room in a row, Smokescreen finally had enough of his enjoyable game. Blue fingers reached out and _snagged_ the tip of a frantic, droopy doorwing.

Prowl tried to whirl around to berate his subordinate, but the blue fingers were relentless.

"We need to talk Prowl." Smokescreen said pleasantly, belying the embarrassing circumstances.

Prowl did not droop. He did not sag. It was not dignified to do so and he would not _ever_ act in such a manner. As he straightened into the perfect image of SIC Prowl his doorwings showed every emotion he could not.

"Of course Lieutenant Colonel Smokescreen, let us adjourn to my office."

Prowl had hoped acquiescence would get his brother to stop with the humiliating behavior, but Smokescreen knew him too well. The blue and red knew full well that if Prowl were unencumbered there would suddenly be an 'important comm' summoning the younger Praxian to an obscure meeting that would never show up on any log anywhere.

Therefore, the tactician and theoreticians of First Shift were treated to the strange sight of an _ultra-dignified_ Prowl being towed by his doorwing by his very nonchalant subordinate and brother.

All was silent as the pair entered the SIC's office. Then the low buzz of gossip-mongers began.

Smokescreen released Prowl's doorwing as soon as the lock clicked behind them and the younger Praxian almost dove behind his desk for sanctuary. He sat prim and tall in his seat with his servos clasped together on the desk before him as though _he_ had summoned Smokescreen and not been dragged there himself like an errant youngling.

It was very funny.

"So, how'd it go?"

Making Prowl's doorwings twitch was always wonderful sport.

"It… went according to plan, no deviations were noted."

Smokey struggled not to laugh. "No deviations, huh? Makes me wonder what you got him if I didn't even hear about a reaction."

Twitch, twitch went the wings. "He received the standard opening overture as was proper and he did not react openly as is also proper."

Smokescreen frowned. Jazz would not know instinctively not to react and as far as he knew, the femmes had not told Jazz either. What had his brother given the Polyhexian and why did Jazz not jump the gun with a display of exuberant acceptance?

"Prowl, what exactly did you give him?"

Prowl twitched more distinctly. "I told you, the standard…"

"No Prowl," Smokey interrupted sternly. "I'm serious, _what_ did you give him? Jazz isn't Praxian, he won't know to keep his reaction on the down-low. If he accepted, he should have jumped you or at least made a scene over it."

Prowl looked up worried and with the faint horrid beginnings of spark-break. "I… you think… you think he rejected my gift?"

Smokescreen reached out and drew his stiff little brother into an embrace. "I don't know. For all we know he might have misunderstood what it was. That's why I need to know what you gave him."

Black and white wings twitched and Prowl blushed furiously. "I left a traditional courtship platter with markers for exclusivity."

Smokescreen could not help but grin into his brother's helm, when Prowl went, he went all the way. "Well little brother, disregarding that your gift is way more than we discussed, I don't think he recognized the significance of it."

Black and white doorwings drooped forlornly.

"However!" Smokey hastily reassured. "From what my sources say, Jazz has been seeking advice on proper Praxian courtship so I think he'll be enlightened soon!"

Prowl observed his brother shrewdly. "You are not simply endeavoring to soften his rejection are you?"

Smokey let go and smiled. "In regards to you little brother, not a chance in pit."

Prowl gave the faintest of half-smiles then looked down at his datapads and back up at Smokey questioningly. "Have I divulged enough secrets to be permitted to return to my work now?"

Smokescreen laughed and nodded. He exited Prowl's office, being sure to maintain the smile until his brother's door was firmly shut, then dropped it like molten steel. He had a shovel talk to plot out.

.-..-..-..-.

Mirage was very warm. He did not remember covering up with a warming mesh, nor did he remember even having one on his berth when he finally collapsed the dark-cycle prior. He unshuttered his optics in confusion and looked down.

He was covered in, not one, not two, but _five_ luxurious, superior quality meshes. He sat straight up in shock; he had not seen meshes of this quality since his home went down in flames. Mirage snatched the top most mesh up and began to examine it for its origin mark. He froze with shaking servos when he found it, then began to softly pet it as though needing reassurance that his family's crest was real. He was just getting ready to have a good cry, for the idea of his suitors digging through the thousands of tons of rubble just to find this one personal memento, was more than he could handle, when his doorchime rang.

Mirage flung himself from his berth, scrubbing away nascent tears, and rushed to open the door to greet his beloveds. The watery smile died off his face when the door revealed, not a scout and tactician, but a racer frame courier.

Quikwit, who was a respected ops-agent moonlighting in the Quartermaster's Corp, grinned knowingly. "Captain Mirage, I have a message for you. Are you prepared to hear it?"

Oh, he was so slagged. No… _his beloveds_ were so slagged. They had gotten Ops involved. Mirage knew well and truly that Ops did get involved unless a situation amused them… which concurrently meant that whatever his suitors had planned was highly entertaining according to the fickle humor of his department.

Mirage nodded weakly.

"Excellent! Then in accordance with the prophecy, the mech who identifies himself as Mirage is to be mechnapped, cleaned, and delivered to the roof, whereupon he shall be held for ransom, the terms of which will then be determined by his captors. Are you prepared to comply?"

Mirage was already moving frantically for the doorpad, he was not a toy to be paraded about in such a matter! Quikwit just smiled serenely and placed his servos behind his back. Mirage knew, even as the door closed, that it was too late. A slithering sound betrayed the agent behind him and Mirage turned to engage his would-be attacker, engaging his electrodisruptor as he did so.

.-..-..-..-.

Quikwit rocked back on his stabilizers and listened to the, admittedly quiet, scuffle on the other side of the wall. He had gotten a few odd looks for just standing there staring at an officer's door, but the placid smile he gave to the overly observant ones either unnerved them enough to leave him alone or caused them to assume the officer in question was the cause of his hallway sentry duty. None were brave enough to ask which suited Quikwit just fine.

.-..-..-..-.

It was well known across Iacon Base that opsmecha were weird. Being the spark of Ops territory meant that the Iacon stationed mecha were privy to many ops-related sightings and observances, many of which the viewing mecha prayed fervently to _unsee_.

This, however, took the oil cake, the meal, the highgrade, and the basket they were carried in.

Four opsmecha were seen to be carrying something through the halls while heartily singing the lustiest and most explicit bar and club songs any of the soldiers had ever heard. Many notes were taken for future reference. This, however, was not what made it so unusual, no it was the notably invisible object so clearly tied above the opsmechs helms. The thing was clearly alive as the coils of rope could be seen to thrash and twist to no avail. A few foolishly brave soldiers thought to rescue whoever or whatever the opsmechs had captured, but were fortunately held back by their much wiser compatriots.

When the opsmechs reached the washracks they turned in instead of going onward. Their invisible bundle was delivered into the loving servos of yet more opsmechs.

Then the washrack was closed to the general public, and the soldiers of Iacon Base saw no more. However, just because their optics were spared did not mean their audials received the same treatment. Such caterwauling had never been heard.

And it went something like this:

"You rust laden, scraplet carrying… I refuse to be subjected to such uncivilized treatment!"

*Wham*

*Bang, Bang*

"Get his arm!"

"He's coming loose!"

*Slam*

*Grapple*

*Bang*

"Uncultured Barbarians! Unservo me!"

*Sound of highpowered washer hose*

"Aieee!"

*Slam*

*Crunch*

"That was my olfactory sensor slagger!"

And so it went.

The few soldiers brave and scarred enough to find this humorous stuck close to listen to the fun and wait for the inevitable reappearance of the opsmechs and their victim.

When all was quiet the anticipation rose and the soldiers craned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of what quarry the opsmechs had caught that needed such a desperate sounding wash. Sadly, they were all disappointed as the four mechs from before exited the racks carrying the same invisible package.

This time however, the songs were of an even raunchier quality as if to take revenge upon the captive for daring to fight his/its captors.

.-..-..-..-.

When a much abused and embarrassed Mirage was finally released on the west roof access he was fully prepared to never speak to his suitors again. Both of them had the grace to at least look chagrinned by the state of his arrival, but that would certainly not be enough to earn his forgiveness. Mirage decloaked so they could fully appreciate the severity of his displeasure.

* * *

Thanks you so much to everyone who reviewed! Knowing that all of you are still around and reading this warmed my heart completely. See you next time!

"By order of the readers, Writer's block is hereby banished from the kingdom of ghost-writer-88" (Love this so much! Thanks canikostar99!)


	12. Chapter 12: Progress

Sorry for the long wait guys and gals, RL got busy there for a while. However, despite not being able to post anything I was still writing. This means that besides this chapter I have two more to post next week.

I hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 12:

Mirage paced the length of the roof still in high dungeon about how he had been treated. Behind him, looking more and more miserable with his every turn, stood his penitent suitors. Mirage _knew_ that they had not known what they were unleashing upon him, but the snit that had grown during the morning would not be quelled.

Finally, he could take it no more and he stomped over to Hound and Trailbreaker. He stood there arms folded and still they did not get the picture. Huffing in exasperation the noble reached down, snagged their arms and pulled them around himself. What he wanted finally clicked in their metas and they moved to surround him in a hug. To Mirage, who was taller than Hound and shorter than Trailbreaker, whose massive black arms engulfed them both, this was the most perfect place to be. As the perfect warmth and comfort sunk in Mirage felt all his anger just melt away. He became so absorbed in the embrace that the air raid sirens could have gone off and he never would have noticed.

However, it eventually had to end. Mirage knew they needed to talk. There were… _things_, that he was realizing he could no longer live without. Those things had names. And were currently hugging him and whispering their spark-felt apologies for his humiliation. The blue and white pulled back reluctantly and cupped the side of his loves' helms.

"I forgive you. I would like to know why you got my brethren in Ops involved in our courting though." He said firmly. He was still a bit irritated despite it all.

Hound had the grace to blush. "We ah,… we thought that as your unit and department that they might like to help. We were not expecting them to be so… enthusiastic or creative."

Mirage thumped his helm down against conveniently near black armor. "Ops mecha have a particularly peculiar sense of humor, as you well saw, and they delight in tormenting those members who choose to engage in open relationships. By inviting them to help you have sealed my fate as a permanently invisible, hunted mech. Thank you… so much."

"Sorry."

There were servos stroking down his dorsal column which were very soothing and he sighed. "There is nothing for it now. I will simply have to find an alternative place to recharge until such time as they find someone else to target."

Mirage glanced over Trailbreaker's shoulder at the picnic laid out on the rooftop. "I believe I am hungry now and we shall eat and speak of this no more. Energon spilt cannot be picked again."

Trailbreaker traded an uneasy look with Hound, but they both sat and tried to at least enjoy the failed date as much as they could. It was very silent at first, until Mirage got tired of the fragile handling.

"I told you I forgave you. I will have to make some adjustments, sure, but those changes would have come soon of their own accord. My people are not stupid, they would have figured it out eventually, if they had not already. I was starting to get some sly looks as far back as a decacycle ago."

That finally made them relax and a proper conversation began about the skyline, the air currents, the distant wastelands they could see, the status of life on the base, the burgeoning romances of their peers. Everything except the one topic that Mirage needed to broach. As the last goodies were consumed the blue and white finally reached the zenith of his courage.

"I… I would like to cease our courtship."

Trailbreaker and Hound dropped the storage containers they had begun to clean away and looked at him with shocked devastation. He swiftly held up his servos to stop the coolant tears brimming over their optics. "I did not mean that the way it came out."

"Well then what did you mean?" replied an angry, hurt Hound. Trailbreaker was already starting to pull within himself to protect his spark from the horrible ache settling in. The green scout touched his partner's arm in comfort. "If that was some sort of noble's joke it wasn't funny!"

Mirage hurried to explain. "NO! I… I have come a realization in recent orns. I always dreamed as a youngling of having this amazing, traditional courtship. How my courtier would sweep me off my peds with lavish gifts and noble gestures, all the while I would play hard to acquire and react with pretended coolness. In my meta it was always the pinnacle of romance and I longed for it. Now,… in reality, I find it highlighting my loneliness, amplifying my longing beyond measure, and ensuring that I am always aware of the holes in my spark. I… I can take it no longer. Please… Please… grant me my request. Would that the two of you love me as I have come to love you, I would offer you a bond."

Hound gasped in joy and might have replied, but Mirage heard nothing, for Trailbreaker had leaned forward and seized the noble's lipplates with his own. It was warm, soft and firm at the same time, a delightful tease, and it made Mirage's spark _pound_. The massive black mech released his dazed captive and looked deeply into those pale golden optics.

"Yes."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz stealthed down the hallway, a big sack thrown over his shoulder gimbal. What he was about to do was embarrassing enough without anyone else witnessing it. Unfortunately, there was at least one witness. Red Alert. The Security Director had swiftly become Prowl's friend after transferring in, and moving forward with courtship plans without apprising the paranoid mech would have Jazz seeing the inside of a brig cell for the foreseeable future. Sure, Red Alert would list him as a security risk on the official paperwork of course, but he would know that it was not the true reason. To prevent this Jazz had contacted Red, explained himself, his feelings and intentions, and then begged for help. So now, he was sneaking down a deserted corridor, carrying a sack, and humming self-written theme music.

He snuck into the senior officers' wing and proceeded to his destination. Jazz reminded himself that he loved this mech and that the embarrassment was merely fear of failure. Failure to successfully complete the mission, failure to capture the attention of the mech he desired, and failure to acquire said mech's spark in exchange for his own.

The door approached.

Ordinarily hacking such a door would be a piece of oil pie, but since Red Alert took the throne of Security Chief just getting to the locks was nigh impossible… for now. Ops was preparing a dark-cycle run to test the security system and improve the efforts of both departments for some point in the future. As it stood now, Jazz, Blackshot, and perhaps another two or three could reasonably bypass Red's increased protection on officer doors, much to the Security Director's irritation.

This time however, Jazz was not in the mood to test himself against the white and red mech and simply waited, ped tapping, for Red Alert to override the door. A tiny click and a whispered "good luck" in his comm signaled that it was done.

Jazz entered.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz stood in the cool, silent darkness of Prowl's entryway and listened. He knew that Smokescreen had been seen exiting the suite, but Bluestreak had been left to finish his nap. The twins were scheduled to come by in a joor and a half when Bluestreak woke up. That time period should be more than enough for Jazz to finish his plan and then hide from the sparkling's sitters. Jazz also did not want to frighten the delicate young Praxian with a stranger in his home. Thus he was standing still until he could determine if the bitlet had been roused by his entry.

Nothing. The silence was undisturbed.

Using his best stealth programs to silence his systems, Jazz maneuvered through the sparsely appointed apartment. Reaching his destination he unpacked his subspace. Crystal powder, seasoned rust, tempered acid, energon base, and other assorted ingredients piled upon the table in semi-neat rows until the last had been brought forth and Jazz could withdraw the recipes.

The femmes had been very explicit with their instructions for this step of acceptance. Jazz had to prepare a full three course meal comprised entirely of Prowl's favorite dishes and not get caught doing so. If Prowl was pleased Jazz would be invited to partake with the Praxian and the official courtship would begin. If Jazz was successful he would be able to take a more active role in the courtship rather than just enticement.

He searched the kitchenette for some mixing bowls and found it well appointed. Pulling out what he needed he set to preparing the base form of the dish he was making. Jazz knew that favorite dishes were expected for this overture, but thanks to war rationing he had little more than hints as to the Praxian's culinary preferences. The few times Jazz had witnessed Prowl enjoying a non-ration treat it had been on the spicy or acidic side. Therefore, Jazz had chosen an Altihexian main course with a better crystal salad recipe he found in a rescued Praxian cookbook, an appetizer of cream of copper soup with crispy, tangy borite chips, and oil cake with thermite whipped topping.

The whole meal was far less sweet than Jazz preferred and despite desiring Prowl's invitation he was not looking forward to such an acidic meal. Perhaps he would use some of his ops upgrades to get around it, hmmm, yeah that sounded like a wonderful idea. As Jazz contemplated the possible near future he began to hum softly, and for this reason he did not hear tiny peds sneaking up on him.

"Whacha doin'?"

Jazz levitated a full chassis length above the ground. He whipped about and faced the little Praxian _who was no longer napping_. Jazz's spark pounded in its crystal and he pressed a servo over it to calm himself down.

"Ah'm makin' dinner fo' Prowler."

Bluestreak cocked his helm curiously. "Why?"

Jazz knelt down to the youngling's level. "Bcuz Prowler's mah friend n' he needs someone tah take care o' him."

Bluestreak frowned adorably as he considered the wingless mech's answer, then he beamed. "That's good cuz my brother needs someone besides me an' Smokey to love him."

The Polyhexian flustered at being caught out so easily by a youngling, but fortunately his glossa-tied state came to his rescue as Bluestreak sidled closer. "My friends are supposed to come get me soon, but can I help until then?"

Jazz fuzzed his servo over Bluestreak's helm. "Sure bitlet!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time Sunstreaker and Sideswipe came for Bluestreak the kitchenette looked like a warzone and both mech and mechling were hardly recognizable. Bits of energon were glopped and smeared across their frames and powdered additives made them look like multicolored sparkling art projects. Sideswipe dropped to the floor, rolling with laughter, and Sunstreaker snickered softly.

"Prowl's going to kill you." The gold twin stated cheerfully.

Jazz just glared at the twins and finished touching up the last parts of the, somehow, perfectly prepared meal. He placed the main course and the dessert in the chemical reduction chamber and turned to them with servos on his hip gimbals.

"Ya c'n stop laughin' n' start helpin'!"

Sunstreaker snorted in amusement and whisked Bluestreak up into the air. "I'll take care of the sprocket." he rumbled.

Bluestreak shrieked with laughter as Sunstreaker turned to leave, youngling held out on outstretched arms to prevent transference of the various sticky substances to gleaming gold plating.

Sideswipe rolled his optics and picked himself up off the floor. "Well, since Sunshine…"

"Don't call me that!" echoed from across the suite.

Sideswipe beamed. "Since _Sunbeam_ took the easy job, I _suppose_ I could help you with this mess."

Jazz folded his arms. "Thank ya _so_ much fo' ya generosity." He said sarcastically.

Sideswipe bowed theatrically. "You are most welcome honored sir."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cliffjumper took the news of the seekerling remarkably well, suspiciously so. The other minibot's hatred for anyone associated even remotely connected with the Decepticons; even the Autobots' own Ops Department was regarded with paranoid suspicion. Something about Sunstorm being a sparkling seemed to make him, not exempt, but at least regarded more favorably.

Bumblebee felt secure enough in his bitlet's safety with his roommate that he did not feel worried to leave them alone while he used the washracks. Bumblebee contemplated the remainder of his orn and what he had to accomplish. He needed to track down Thorn and discuss their plan of attack. Bumblebee knew he was treating this like a mission, but where his sire was concerned, any political manipulations had to be as precise as the best of infiltrations.

Bumblebee opened the door to his shared quarters silently so as not to disturb the recharging occupants. Cliffjumper was already active, but was sitting with his backplates to the door as he cleaned one of his rifles. Normally, Bumblebee would have walked right in, but he found himself observing his roommate. There was nothing special about seeing Cliff clean a gun, but every so often he would stop and watch the recharging seekerling with a look that the yellow and black assassin had never seen before on the red minibot.

There was some wariness there, as was to be expected from the heavy gunner, but his countenance held mostly pity and concern? The longer Bumblebee observe him the more sure the assassin was of his roommate's sympathy. Such a sentiment was completely unexpected and it piqued Bumblebee's curiosity. Unfortunately, he did not have time to pursue that line of thought. The yellow and black minibot considered his options, checked the Autobot intranet for Cliff's schedule, and moved forward with his plan.

Bumblebee walked up to his roommate's berth, being sure to keep his pedesteps loud enough to be heard by the paranoid mech, and cycled his vocalizer. Cliffjumper frowned up at him questioningly.

"Um, Cliff, I just wanted to thank you for being so understanding about Sunny staying with us."

Cliffjumper squirmed. "He's a bitlet. It ain't fair what the Cons did to him and someone's got to show him there's a better way. Besides, the Cons probably stuffed him full of nasty infiltrator programs and I'm the best choice for watching out for early warning signs of that junk. If I catch it early enough we might even be able to save him from it."

Bumblebee smiled, that was completely like Cliff. "Well, while you're watching him for that, could you do me a favor and keep him company? I have an errand I need to run and he can't come with me to that part of the base."

Cliffjumper would know that was code for 'Ops Territory', but would he accept? The red minibot looked away from the assassin and down at the sleeping sparkling. "Yeah, I… I could do that."

Bumblebee tapped Cliffjumper's shoulder in thanks.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bumblebee snuck into the communal barracks the minibot royal guard had been provided and began his search for Thorn. The green and yellow captain of the guard had predictably refused individual housing when his mechs could not likewise be afforded accommodation. It was yet again further evidence for Bumblebee's burden of proof that Thorn would make a wonderful king. Unfortunately, this meant that Bumblebee would have to risk the other guards hearing their plans. Fortunately, the guardsmecha housed in this particular room were notoriously loyal to both their captain and their prince.

As Bumblebee suspected his friend's berth was in the farthest corner from the doorway, and he was not alone. No, because that would have made it easy. The lithe minibot decided if he had to reveal himself, then he was going to do it in style. Bumblebee crawled across the ceiling until he was positioned directly over this six officers. From this angle he could see they were playing Praxus-Hold-Em and he grinned, time for some fun. He dropped like a stone and landed on all fours like a felinoid. The cards on the berth flew up and he grabbed them on the bounce. The six royal guards had flown backward from shock and were now pointing their guns at the interloper. Bumblebee ignored the weapons and perused the cards in his servo as he lounged. "Thorn, your set sucks. Arc and Weld totally have you beat and Stonebiter must think he's playing something else, because his cards are completely useless."

He would have continued his critique but he had already achieved the objective of making Thorn smack his own helm and hide his optics. Bumblebee flipped forward in a spin that landed him squarely in Thorn's lap where he curled an arm around his friend's neck and tapped his primary energon lines with a very small assassin's blade. "You sir, need to brush up on your threat detection."

The green minibot rolled his optics. "Yes, because an assassin is going to take the form of my prince just to deactivate a guardsmech."

Bumblebee leaned up, suddenly serious. "No, but they would try it to murder the future king."

Thorn glanced at his subordinates, but they were too loyal to say anything, at the moment anyway.

"My friend, I am sure such elevation is a long time coming."

"It's coming tonight."

"What!" Thorn shrieked. "What do you mean tonight?!"

Bumblebee sighed as he got off his friend's lap and settled in a chair off to the side. "I mean that my sire called me in and told me he plans to announce my imminent ascension posthaste. I managed to convince him to wait until tonight, but that still does not give us much time to get everything set."

"You're telling me."

As both minibots stewed in the enormity of the unfinished plans, one of the other guardsmechs leaned into their line of sight. "Might we not help you, sirs?"

Bumblebee looked over to the five officers. "You would help us thwart my sire's plans and endanger your own livelihoods in the process?"

His doubt was most evident, but the guardsmech answered passionately. "Of course my prince, tis not out of duty that we swore to follow our captain and not out of selfish desire for glory that we willingly obey whatever our prince commands of us. We are your loyal servants out of love and you have merely to command us and it shall be so."

Bumblebee looked at Thorn with a raised optic ridge and the green minibot nodded his agreement.

"Then let's begin."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Shuttlebays in Iacon Base were normally sites of extreme hustle and bustle, but this was just so far beyond expectations. The poor flight technicians had cleared the bay of shuttles and begged command for access to an auxiliary bay after the third wave of minibots descended upon them. It was a good thing too as the entire remaining population of the Underrealm plus their Autobot cousins trickled in to fill the space. Red Alert's security mechs appreared soon after to investigate the reason for the congregation and then disburse the security breach. Unfortunately for the security mechs the minibots had no intention of leaving, citing that they had been summoned to the hanger by their king. A now irate Red commed the errant royalty only to be blockaded by the haughty mech via refusal delivered by an apologetic aide.

Red Alert's next call was to Prime as regulations dictated that stubborn, recalcitrant regents clearly fell under the purview of the chief diplomaqt, ergo, the Prime.

-:- Hello, you have reached the office of the Prime, he is currently buried under a large stack of datapads and cannot take your message. Please leave a message after the beep. -:-

*Beep*

While Red could normally appreciate the humor Prowl had applied to the Prime's answering service, this was a serious response. Thusly did a hot Red Alert reply.

-:- Prime! I don't care if you're buried under a shuttle's worth of datawork, get yourself out and deal with the smelter fragged minibots! Their king is creating holes in my security net! He's probably a Decepticon spy here to disrupt our efficiency so the Cons can attack us easier! It's so very convenient that his cover story lets him have unfettered diplomatic access. *Gasp* He could even get in to see you without contestation! Don't worry Prime, I'll stop the assassin from reaching you! I'll… -:-

*Message limit reached.*

* * *

canikostar99: I do believe Hound and TB were thinking that Ops was like Mirage's family, but due to the 'tameness' of their own family life they were not prepared for such an 'enthusiastic' response. Also, once it was in motion it was too late to stop it. Also, the response from Jazz is coming, and it should be quite a pleasing development for the PxJ lovers that have been waiting so very patiently. I do believe from the rate of ideas flowing onto the pages at the moment that the writer's block is thoroughly banished (the threat of pencil-spears definitely helped).

CNightJoy: oh, their meeting is coming, it is going to be sooooo cute.

Starfire201: Yes, yes they did.


	13. Chapter 13: Dinner and a Kiss

Managed to get this chapter up earlier than expected. Chapter 14 is out of the writing phase and ready for typing, so hopefully it will be ready for posting next week or earlier.

Warnings: unusual relationship opinions generated by past trauma. Smexy Prowl; oozy Jazz, etc. The PxJ fans should be pleased.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 13:

Lord Goldbug, Sovreign of the Underrealm, Supreme Emperor of all Minibots, was nowhere to be found. The conference was to have begun almost twenty kliks ago, but the precisely punctual king had disappeared. Bumblebee began to fidget worriedly and exchange glances with his carrier, this was all most unnerving, a comm from Goldbug nineteen kliks ago had arrived stating he had been delayed. The mecha were becoming impatient and the prince wondered how long they could delay. A few more kliks perhaps, then Hornet would need to take over as representative helm of state.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Optimus sighed in relief as he signed and set aside the last of the orn's datawork. The influx of minibot refugees had doubled his workload and he looked forward to a nice quiet cube of highgrade and a good bookfile before he turned in for the dark-cycle. He stretched up to loosen tense cables and unkink his back struts. As he slumped down he noticed a light blinking on his desk comm indicating he had recorded message. Optimus depressed the key and listened.

Oh Primus below…

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Red Alert ignored the increasingly irate screaming emanating from the call block as he checked the extra forcefield he was raising to keep the imposter king-cum-assassin from escaping. Pure blue sparks lit the air around his horns as his glitch extrapolated all the ways the minibot could slay them in their recharge. The security director soothed himself that the first step to re-securing Iacon base had been completed successfully with the imprisonment of the imposter.

Red Alert exited the main cell block and moved to the console to reinforce the lock encryption with a rotating code devised by Ops for the express purpose of containing an infiltrator. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on the console, Optimus Prime and General Prowl swept around the corner into the room. The Prime's vents were puffing and Prowl's optics were overbright. Their laser focus swept the anterior chamber of the brig and landed with intensity on the security director who immediately began to panic.

"Prime! You can't be here! What if the assassin escapes?! There will be no time for you to escape! Quickly, you must leave now! Until we put the prisoner in punitive status you are not permitted below level twelve and you are to be escorted by no less than three guards when you are outside your office or quarters. Ironhide will need to be assigned to you permanently, which means adding a second berth to the antechamber of your quarters…"

Red Alert trailed off as Optimus held up a staying servo. "Red Alert, while I appreciate and applaud your dedication to the safety of both myself and the Autobots, this mech is not an assassin."

"But Prime!" Red began to protest, but yet again Optimus waved himself to silence.

"No Red Alert, this mech has already been tested for legitimacy by Special Operations, Medical, and your own Security Department. This mech is Lord Goldbug and you must let him out before you cause an irreparable diplomatic incident."

The sparks between Red's horns flared for a long moment, but even the glitch could not argue with that sort of background check, especially since the protocols for such vetting had become most stringent in the wake of the spy ring infiltration two vorns ago. That did not mean he was not going to grumble about dire possibilities even as he complied.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hornet stood gracefully from his seat on the hanger overlook and moved to the railing to quiet his much beloved subjects. Despite their personal distraction they quieted swiftly at the sight of their Royal Consort.

"My dear denizens of the exalted Underrealm, in this dark time we must be thankful for all that remains to us. We have been exceedingly favorable in the optics of Primus, for he saw fit to plan ahead and send our Prince the desire to go forth in the service of our Prime that the Prime might have favor toward us in our time of need. Now, however, that time is at an end and our Prince is coming home."

As the crowd roared their approval the door to the overlook opened and Goldbug strolled in. To those closest to him he looked positively tempestuous, but his regality was wrapped around him like a masking cloak the crowd would certainly not see through. Bumblebee cringed at having to say what was necessary when his sire was already so upset, but there was no other way.

Lord Goldbug joined his conjunx at the railing and wrapped an arm around Hornet affectionately. "My resplendent Consort is correct. I will be relinquishing my title as Reigning Lord and assuming a new role as Advisor Regent. Please, my citizens, join me in welcoming our new Reigning Lord, Prince Bumblebee, King Apparent."

This was not what they had discussed, Bumblebee fumed. Then he paused mentally, this development would make things much easier. He came parallel to genitors and looked down over their few remaining mecha. Most of those present were younglings and elderly as the able-chassised had stayed behind to hold back the invading Decepticon forces. The former group would not remember their prince as anything but a name, while the latter group would remember precisely why their prince had left and did not return. Both demographics would be aware of how of the Captain of the Royal Guard stepped in to fill the gap.

Bumblebee bowed low to his sire, then addressed the minibots. "Citizens of the beleaguered Underrealm, it is with deepest gratitude that I accept the honor of becoming your king."

The crowd roared.

Bumblebee raised his servos genially for silence. "Like my sire, the great and wise King Goldbug, I swear to uphold the needs of the many over my own personal desires and always do that which is best for those in my care."

Again the crowd lit up like fireworks.

"As my first act as king I appoint General Thorn, Captain of the Royal Guard, as my heir apparent and proxy."

The mecha cheered and Goldbug nodded his approval; it was always wise to plan for the worst and hope for the best.

"My second act as King is to abdicate the throne and leave you in the more capable servos of my chosen brother, Thorn."

Pandemonium broke loose as the crowd expressed mixed opinions of his announcement. However, it was done now and the assembly would just have to get used to it because Bumblebee was not redacting his statement. The former prince bowed to a purple faceplated Goldbug and his sobbing carrier.

"Forgive me my sire, my dear carrier," he intoned lowly. "My place is with my Prime and I cannot leave his service until I feel my duty is fulfilled. I will miss you both, but I know you will be safe in the outer reaches of space. Fare thee well."

The crowd had silenced itself by this point and heard the poignant goodbye. This, more than the long absence of their prince, moved them to accept his decision of abdication. The former prince turned to exit, but was stopped when his sire finally found his vocalizer. "If you walk out that door and do not fulfill your duty I will disown you and you will be banished forever from the territories of the minibots!"

The crowd was riveted to the unfolding drama. Bumblebee turned to face his sire. "I love you very much my sire and I always have strived to follow your teachings, the first of which was 'honor your oaths'. I gave my oath to the Prime not to leave his service until the war ended or the Well called for me. I would bring dishonor upon myself, my house, and you my sire to break that promise. If you cannot understand this tenant of functioning, which you yourself instilled into me, then I accept your conditions of leaving."

And Bumblebee walked out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl entered his domicile to dim, peaceful lighting and delicious smells.

"Smokey, are we celebrating something tonight?"

There was no answer.

The black and white walked into the kitchen to find a veritable feast laid out. There was only one place setting at the table and most of the dishes were his favorites. Before he got himself too excited over the possibilities, Prowl commed his brother.

-:- Smokescreen, did you prepare the dark-cycle meal? -:-

-:- No? Should I have? -:-

Prowl hesitated before sending his reply. -:- I think Jazz might have said yes! -:-

There was a large pause as Smokescreen waited for more information, but none was forthcoming. -:- Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out. -:-

It was only an internal comm call, but Smokescreen swore he could hear his brother's systems seizing. He snickered. -:- Good luck brother dearest, remember you brought this upon yourself. -:-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In the lowest level of the base in the farthest corner, a thin band of blue lit up to scan its owner's environment. Pressed precariously against the ceiling, limbs splayed at odd angles to hold him up, Jazz was practicing his infiltration techniques.

The saboteur heard movement down the hall and extinguished his visor again. A moment later a red and blue Praxian stalked past and continued down the hall, doorwings swaying gently as they scanned for their bearer's prey.

Thus the reason Jazz was hid… stealth training.

The temporarily all black saboteur waited until the motion sensitive mech had turned the next corner, counted to fifteen for good measure, then dropped silently to the ground and dashed away on silent peds. He headed straight for the nearest lift in the hope of putting at least a few levels between them before Smokescreen realized he had changed locations. Jazz pressed the button for the lift and looked around frantically, knowing for certain that the Praxian could show up any klik. He could not help his terror, who could when being commed with dire threats of what would happen when the caller caught his victim.

Said comm had come just as he finished setting out the last prepared dish, and Jazz had been running ever since.

The lift pinged softly as it arrived and Jazz grimaced at the tell-tale sound. When the lift doors opened he was brought to the terrifying realization that all his sneaking had been for naught.

"Hello Jazz."

Jazz's jaw dropped. "Whu'…, bu' how?!"

Smokescreen smirked and motioned the caught saboteur into the lift. "Well, it seems that our dear Security Director has been dabbling in hologram technology under Hound's consultation. Apparently it has many interesting uses in the security world. Since Red Alert has become one of Prowl's few, but dear, friends, he was only two happy to help me catch the mech toying with my brother's spark."

"Whoa, whoa," Jazz exclaimed, raising his servos in a defensive motion. "Ya knew n' ya approved o' mah intentions ta court ya brutha, n' ya kno' Ah'm serious 'bout him so wha's tha deal!"

Smokescreen frowned imperiously and folded his arms. "That was before Prowl offered a bonding courtship to you."

Now Jazz was truly angry. "So, what?! Ah'm good enough fo' a romantic fling, bu' not a serious commitment?!"

"That's not it at all." Smokescreen replied soothingly. "I think you'll be good for my brother either way, but since he decided to get serious, my role in all this has shifted from helpful friend to protective brother."

And the truth dawned upon Jazz. "WAIT, 's this a shovel talk?"

Smokescreen's grin was positively evil. "Of course not Jazz. This is simply a friendly reminder that, while I might not be Special Operations, I have been a gambler for a very long time and I have a _long_ list of favors, debts owed, and wires I can pull should the need arise… if you catch my drift?"

The king of swerve, the master of enemy manipulation, whimpered pathetically and floundered for words.

-:- Jazz, sorry to trouble you so late in the dark-cycle, but it appears that some mech has bestowed the kindness of a home cooked meal upon me. There is far too much for me to eat by myself and I wondered if you might be interested in joining me. -:-

Saved by the comm!

Jazz flipped upward to cling to the ceiling and kicked out the maintenance hatch. He slithered through before Smokescreen could do more than exclaim and called back to the indignant mech. "Sorreh Smokey, Ah gotta hot date wit' mah Prowler n' Ah can' be late."

Smokescreen leapt upward and snagged the lip of the opening with a servo. There was no way Jazz was going to run out on this discussion, especially with how flippantly he was behaving. The Praxian swung his other arm up to have his chassis into the lift shaft, but just as his helm started to breach the opening Jazz popped back into sight.

"N' fo' tha record Smokey, Ah love Prowl wit' everythin' Ah am n' there ain' nothin' tha' Ah wouldn' do ta make him happy, includin' removin' mahself from his life permanentleh if tha's wha' it takes."

Smokescreen lowered himself back into the lift as Jazz disappeared again and smiled with satisfaction. His duty to ensure his brother's eternal happiness was fulfilled… for the moment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-:- On mah way Prowler! -:-

Prowl smiled as he received the enthusiastic affirmative. Normally, the tactician would have protested the nickname, but circumstances had changed, allowing him to enjoy the affectionate name for its intended purpose. According to Praxian customs only one's family or bonded could call them by a familiar name and of all the secret romantic dreams Prowl had lost, this one had never been broken or fulfilled. It had shocked him to be addressed so by a mech who he barely knew but as their friendship grew and deepened it became a guilty pleasure. Prowl always made sure to do the proper thing and correct the nickname, but every time he wished for the Polyhexian to never stop. It was this wish that had first alerted Prowl to the state of his growing affections for his best friend, however, denial had been the safer path. Prowl was supremely happy to have fulfilled that tradition, despite smudging the lines of precisely _when_ it could be considered acceptable for Jazz to be allowed familiarity.

Prowl knew that his strict adherence to old traditions was probably confusing to his peers, especially considering how most Praxians had moved away from such things and closer to the Iaconian free-love standard. He himself had reveled in such freedom once upon a time, but had soon learned the consequences of such indiscretion when he met Sentinel. Primus had mercy upon him even then, and seen fit to rescue him with the advent of the True Prime. During Prowl's healing he had come to the conclusion that had he held to the Praxian tenant of not interfacing before bonding he would have had the opportunity to see Sentinel for who the mech really was.

Especially considering that Prowl could list several warning signs in retrospect that he would have noticed if the relationship had not moved so fast. When Prowl considered his burgeoning relationship with Jazz he could not find any such detrimental markers. Prowl was ever vigilant to pay attention; he _would not_ be trapped in another abusive relationship. This time however, his spark was at peace with Jazz, if one could call joyous whirling and pleased fluttering peaceful.

The doorchime rang.

Prowl looked at the door with trepidation as doubts arose. What if Jazz had not prepared the meal? What if Jazz thought this was just another act of friendship?

Prowl stilled his twitching doorwings and took a deep intake. Either way, he would get through this.

He opened the door. Any doubts he might have had evaporated when he laid optics on the excitedly wriggling Polyhexian on his doorstep. Prowl smiled softly.

"Jazz, please, come in."

Jazz sidestepped into the living room and had to strangle himself practically to keep from throwing in any more dance moves. He was just so excited to finally have a date with this wonderful mech. It did not help that Prowl was genuinely smiling at him. It was a good thing Prowl did not smile at him like that during working joors or he would totally be a worthless puddle of smitten Jazz.

It got worse when Prowl _fluttered_ his wings at him. Jazz was so wrapped up in finally living his dream that he almost missed the Praxian directing him to the table. Jazz oozed into his seat and smiled dreamily at the black and white. The first bite of ultra acidic energon brought him hastily back to reality.

Prowl was feeling quite flattered by Jazz's smitten behavior and wondering how he had never noticed it happening before. He served up two portions of the main course and its sidedishes then took the first bite as tradition dictated the prathama should. Prowl shuttered his optics in bliss, oh it was delightfully tasty. The perfect blend of bitter acids and the spicy aftertaste was _divine_. Prowl opened his optics to compliment Jazz on his excellent cooking, but was met with a coughing, sputtering pile of miserable Polyhexian. He could not help smirking a bit at Jazz's plight, but was kind enough to cover his mouth. Jazz glared at him for enjoying the situation, but it was short-lived due to his attempt to swallow. When Jazz's helm hit the table Prowl decided to take mercy upon his potential prebonded. He arose and pulled a bottle from a cabinet. Prowl drew up a dropper from it and dripped it liberally on Jazz's energon.

"Try it now." He said gently.

Jazz looked up at him skeptically, but dutifully ate another mouthful. He could feel Prowl's optics on him, waiting for a verdict. Jazz swallowed. While the energon was still spicy, it was no longer acidic which made it much more palatable than Jazz anticipated. Jazz looked up at Prowl incredulously. "Wow Prowler, wha' _is_ tha' stuff!"

There was a tiny smirk flirting with the corner of Prowl's mouth and Jazz felt the sudden need to lick it off.

"That, dear Jazz, is extract of lacewing crystal. It is a very expensive food additive. Smokescreen and our carrier held a deep dislike for acidic foods just as you seem to. Our sire and I were the exact opposite. It was a compromise my sire negotiated long and hard for that he might have his favorite meals at least occasionally."

Jazz swallowed nervously. "Um, won' Smokey be mad tha' ya wastin' such a 'spensive commodity on meh?"

"Nonsense." Prowl rebutted. "You are worth far more than a mere bottle of lacewing. Besides, since the crystal gardens of Praxus now lie in ruin, we hold the market monopoly on lacewing, all thanks to your precious find during the search. Smokescreen has stated several times how much he owes you for that."

Prowl's vocalizer hitched as he spoke of his lost home and Jazz put a comforting servo on his arm. "Thanks Prowler."

Prowl's wings fluttered at the endearment and he stroked a servo over his potential intended's helm. "You are most welcome. Is the food palatable now?"

Jazz could recognize an attempt to change a painful subject. "Yeah, we ate ah'lotta spiceh food in Polyhex, bu' it was always on tha sweet side."

"Sweet and spicy?" Prowl puzzled. "that does sound like an interesting deviation. If you are so inclined to cook again, I would greatly enjoy tasting such cuisine."

Jazz's smile lit up the room. That was an invitation for a second date. "Sure Prowler, Ah'd like tha'."

After that their meal went well; the ice having successfully been broken. Jazz found that he could converse normally with the object of his affections now that the novelty of being able to openly express his attraction was wearing down a bit. By the end of the meal touches and implied suggestions Prowl had not given any indications that courtship would be commencing. He finally got up the courage to ask as Prowl escorted him to the door.

"Uh, Prowler, Ah don' wanna pressure ya 're nothin', but Ah need'a clear answer here…" Jazz trailed off, not knowing how to phrase what he needed to say.

Fortunately, Prowl showed rare intuitiveness and realized what Jazz was trying to get out. He reached down and grasped the Polyhexian's servo, bringing it to his lipplates for a gentle kiss. "My dearest Jazz, it is my honor to court you and I can never express how grateful I am that you would grant me this chance to deepen our relationship."

Jazz melted into the doorframe, as his legs could no longer hold him up.

"Sure! No problem Prowler." He replied weakly.

Prowl smirked sexily and bid him good dark-cycle.

It would be quite a while before Jazz was able to move.

* * *

Every1's Beta: More sneaky 'Bee for you in this chapter, hope you liked it! I didn't want an immediate confrontation between Jazz and Blue, but I realized that they had never really met either, thus the 'calm encounter'. Bluestreak has automatically associated Autobot with safety and trustworthy too, which helps him when confronted with a 'stranger', he looks for the red face first (and I am just now realizing that I should have put that in somewhere, well, next time maybe). Blue's shovel talk with Jazz is coming, it just needs the perfect setup.


	14. Chapter 14: Here Comes the Bride

Ok, so, here is a chapter I know you have all been waiting for!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 14:

Still and silent. _Still_ and _silent_. _STILL_ and _SILENT_! Mirage cheated this mantra over and over in his helm. It was extremely difficult to resist the temptation to grab his prebondeds' servos or fidget in his chair. He was determined to comport himself with dignity and propriety. They were sitting in the anteroom of the office of the helm of the Scout Corp. As per Towers tradition, the genitors of mecha in bonding courtship had to be asked for their blessing. None of the three had any living relatives left so they had chosen to substitute the military tradition of asking one's superior officer for permission to bond. The Autobot military was far less strict than the former Cybertronian military and the tradition was seen as mostly a formality. It was still sensor wracking for the noble.

The interior door opened and General Mudd stepped out. "You's mechs wanna step'on in?"

Mudd's genitors had been xenobiologists, resulting in their sparkling acquiring a very organic name and a most unusual, offworld accent. Still, despite growing up with such oddities Mudd was a genteel mech and, thanks to his sparklinghood organic friends, knew more about tracking and camouflage than any other Cybertronian functioning.

The big grey and brown mech motioned them to his guest chairs. "You's mechs finally gettup da gumption to's ask ya shiny to's bond whicha?"

Hound and Trailbreaker blushed and nodded. Mirage just looked askance. Shiny? What on Cybertron was a shiny?

Mudd grinned. "Good, you's gots'mah blessing. Now get'cher afts to tac. I want vid of Prowl's mug when you's mechs tell 'im da happeh news."

The threesome fled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Informing the helm of tactical was infinitely less painful. Prowl had given them a tiny soft look, congratulated them, and then walked them through filling out the eight datapads per mech necessary for Command's records. It was so much better than the awkward comments from Mudd.

Now, they were on their way to Ops to inform Blackshot. The closer they got to the Ops Wing however, the more trepidation Mirage felt. When he was on- mission that sixth sensor often warned him of danger and was well tuned to listening to it.

Unfortunately, he did not listen quite close enough this time as darkness filled his vision.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl waved his subordinate and the mech's future conjunx out of his office while trying to hide a smile. Hopefully, someorn, that would be Jazz and himself. The happy Praxian moved back to his desk to finish his morning paperwork buoyed by thoughts of his nascent relationship.

-:- Prowl, I just saw TB leave your office. Did he finally ask you about his lovers? -:-

Prowl sighed, Smokescreen was such a gossip hound.

-:- Not that it is any of your business, but yes, he asked my blessing to bond with Captain Mirage and Major Hound. -:-

-:- Well, it's about time. There might be a small, friendly, wager on whether the Captain would actually accept their suit. It's good to know he is not as stuck up as mecha claim. -:-

-:- You should know better than to put stock in such rumor Smokescreen. -:-

-:- Yeah, well, changing subject now. Have you asked the big boss for permission to pursue your own future conjunx? -:-

Prowl felt as though icy coolant had been thrown over him. -:- I… I… -:-

-:- Uh-huh, that's what I thought. I know he's your friend and all, but you still need to ask him. It wouldn't do to be seen going outside the chain of command when your own subordinate is following the rules. -:- Smokescreen teased.

Prowl did not see the humor. He fell back on the stability of cold logic and stalwart emotionlessness. -:- You are right. I shall schedule a meeting immediately. -:-

-:- Uh, Prowl, I was only kidding. You don't have to… -:-

But Prowl had already terminated the line. Smokescreen looked at the wall of his office that faced the Tactical Department. Even if he left now, there was no way he would make it from Ops to Tactical before Prowl got away. Sometimes it really sucked to be a liaison.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl stood nervously outside the Prime's office. Ironhide was looking at him side-opticked from his post near the antechamber door. The Praxian would not show fear; Optimus Prime had been his friend even before Prowl had reconciled with his issue with Primes. Their status of friends would be no help here as he could not morally use such a connection to influence a wartime decision.

Prowl rang for entry.

Optimus opened it without preamble and welcomed his dear friend inside.

"Prowl, it is good to see you outside of your office. Is everything functioning well?"

Prowl entered and bowed low to his Prime. "My Lord Prime, thank you for the gift of your time this orn."

"Prowl? Are we not beyond such formality between us by now?" Optimus was worried, it had been vorns since Prowl had last been so proper with him.

Prowl did not rise from his bow, but replied, "My Lord, were these ordinary circumstances I would agree with you, however, the situation which bring this humble petitioner before you requires the full formality due your station."

Now he was really worried, what could possibly be so horrible as to require one of his closest friends to scrape and bow before him? Optimus relented if for no other reason than to reassure Prowl. "We who reign are benevolent towards you, you may present your petition."

Prowl's wings quivered, from either fear or anxiety, Optimus could not tell which. "My Lord, I would ask your permission to court one of your own."

Courtship? That was what he was so worried about? Optimus was overjoyed! The Decepticons were taking so much from them, any opportunity to reclaim some normality was to be well encouraged. "Name the mech, that I might give my blessing to the union."

Prowl struggled not to squirm as he stood straight from his subservient position. "I, the last Winglord of Praxus, desire the spark of Colonel Jazz in equal union as Conjunx Endura."

Optimus nearly chortled. He had known from the first time he witnessed the two black and whites interact that something special was destined for them. The Matrix pulsed his approval of this potential union and encourage the large mech to move the formal part of the conversation along so the Friend part of Optimus could get his two-credits in too. "General Prowl, Second in Command of the Armies of Cybertron, last living heir of the throne of Praxus, it is Our pleasure and delight to bless this pursuit. May Primus smile upon the completion of your courtship."

Now Prowl could vent in relief. "Thank you for your graciousness my Lord Prime."

Optimus retracted his battlemask so his friend could see his teasing. "Oh, it is no trouble. However, as the friend of both involved parties, I must ask, what brought this on?"

Prowl loved his Prime, he really did, but times like now he really hated him. "Well, looking back I believe it started almost half a vorn ago when…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage came back to consciousness slowly. He was still surrounded by darkness, as somemech had overridden his optics and a discrete scan revealed that a jamming field was in place. Whoever had captured him had slipped up however, as his audials were still active. Mirage sent out a subsonic ping from his vocalizer and waited for it to bounce back so he could make a map of the location. Jazz was the best at this particular skill but everymech on the Polyhexian's team had been taught the art of echolocation. The shape and contents of the room vibrated back against his plating and he could not help but think it familiar. He fed the sound image to his mapping software and it pinged back that he was in one of the ops cosmetics labs.

Well, at least that answered who he had been captured by… not that it filled him with any confidence of his safety.

A door opened to his right.

Mirage upped the gain on his audials and waited. Whisper-soft systems padded around the room checking the necessary equipment for whatever they had planned, then approached the immobilized mech. The quiet observer made a full circuit around Mirage and hummed thoughtfully. He immediately tried to match the tonal vocalizations to one of his fellow opsmecha, but it was too generic a sound for his audials to define.

The mech left.

The noble's plating trembled from his anxiety. It was not that he thought the others would harm him, but his memory cache had finally restored itself, which meant he was now aware of Hound and Trailbreaker's missing presences. This ultimately meant they were being held elsewhere. Mirage's anxiety ratcheted higher as he remembered that his prebondeds had accidentally piqued Ops' interest with that offer of one-time involvement. Knowing the crazy mechs who worked in Ops as he did, Mirage felt he should have anticipated their further interference.

The door slid open again.

The cacophony of noise that was admitted nearly redlined the noble's sensitized audials and it took him a moment to fight through the pain of the white noise feedback to reset his systems back down to normal. As the noise differentiated into individual speakers Mirage realized that one of them had released the lock on his optics. Mirage unshuttered them and began cataloguing faceplates. Every last one these slagbags was going to pay!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In another room, on the opposite side of the Ops Department for good measure, Trailbreaker and Hound were being treated like Primes. A tiny mechling who had introduced himself as Rewind was serving them energon treats and soothing coolant, and a femme designated Moonracer was carefully stripping them of their paint. It had been explained to them that this was necessary to comply with Ops' decision regarding the potential triad's request to bond. The two had at first feared that they were being denied, but the mechling assured them that they were regarded favorably.

When their paint was fully removed they were ushered into a warm, steaming washrack and the arms of a dozen ops medics to be cleansed of all dirt, grime, fluid build-up, and whatever else might be found in the seams of their frames.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage was incandescent with rage. The cackling rabble that dared call themselves his brethren had _stripped his paint_!

Mirage's paint nanites had been coded with a highly specific shade of cobalt and white; both had contained special scratch and stain proof compounds, the code for which could only be obtained via offworld import. It would take decacycles for his nanites to recode whatever temporary nanites his evil brethren intended to inflict upon him. The scrapheaps were manipulating his frame now so that he would fit through the door. Where they intended to take him was not yet clear and given the fickle nature of Ops humor, for all he knew they might intend to drop him 'naked' in the Ops-commons to be 'repainted' via 'target practice'.

Being delivered to six snickering medics in a deserted washrack was somehow worse.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hound could not remember the last time he had been so clean and he could not help but note how his bigger lover's base metal gleamed in the lights. They were now being asked to immobilize their frames as several artisans prepared their airbrushes and lightwands.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage slowly moved his digits back and forth. He was working on hacking the medical blocks holding his frame captive, but it was slow going given precisely which medics had placed them. By the time he was redeposited in the prep lab he had only regained control over his left servo. Mirage was resettled in a spread eagle position and he could hear mecha behind him discussing which bits of equipment would be needed first. An unseen mech touched his helm, and he suddenly had access to his vocalizer again. Mirage was just about to explode into a tirade when the unknown mech walked into his line of sight.

"Jazz?!"

Why would his teamleader betray him like this? Jazz knew how much he disliked things like, why would he condone the others doing this? The black and white saboteur stepped close to Mirage and stroked the back of his neck column gently.

"Relax mah friend. We're nah gonna hurt ya. We gotcha cousin here ta help us repaint ya proper n' we all been savin' a long time so we'd have the right compounds, so ya don' need ta worreh 'bout losin' ya Towers shine."

Well it was nice to know they had at least brought in a specialist to replicate his paint, but 'why' was still the unanswered question.

"What is the meaning of all this then?!"

Jazz smiled deviously. "Weeeeell, as Ah un'erstan', accordin' ta Towers tradishun, a highborn n' his chosen mate, or mates, may not be bonded ta one 'nother in tha paint they courted in. Also, Ah b'lieve there may have been somethin' 'bout speshul paint too, bu' ya'll hafta ask Tracks 'bout tha'."

The mentioned mech moved forward so his cousin could see him while dutifully stirring a mixer of paint nanites that Mirage could clearly see was his exact shade of blue.

"Mirage darling!" The red faceplated mech effused. "Why didn't you tell me you were being courted? I could have prepared your bonding cloaks decacycles ago! Fortunately, your lovely friends have been looking out for you and they have provided some of the finest meshes I have ever had the pleasure to work with."

Mirage could barely comprehend the gushing praise; he was firmly stuck on 'when a highborn bonds'.

"Bonding!" he squeaked. "Breaker, Hound, and I have just solidified our decision to bond, we are not ready to take the rites yet!"

Jazz clapped him on the shoulder-pauldron. "Mah mech, we knew ya'd be doin' this a long time ago. From tha mo' ya accepted their right ta court. Now, just relax, ya prebondeds 're havin' a great time gettin' readeh, n' so should ya."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Blackshot checked in with his mechs one last time to determine the readiness status of the mission. During the initial planning phase the location for this hallowed event had been a hot debate, and only the intervention of the femmes had solved the problem. The Commander of Ops turned back to the room the ceremony would be conducted in and began one last walkthrough to make sure all was perfect.

Mirage was one of his finest agents and he deserved to have his fairytale come true.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage sighed in relief as the medic finally released the last of the blocks on his frame. It was like a burden had been lifted off him to be able to move again, not that he would dare do much. Tracks had given him a resplendent detailing and the sparklight jewelry wreathing his frame were exquisite. It looked like delicate strands of finest lace in his beloveds' black and forest green. He had at first protested the use of _forest green_ as it was seemingly the wrong color, and in Towers culture exactitudes of that manner were _not_ to be ignored. Tracks had merely replied that, 'If the scout had been born to the Towers and given proper paint nanites with proper cleansing and wax maintenance Hound would be that exact shade. And there was no way in pit that a chassis artisan as prestigious as himself would ever use such poor quality, unvarnished nanites as what the scout had been using up to this point.'

Mirage knew better than to interfere with his cousin when he got on a fashion tear and simply let him do as he pleased. Now, the fancied-up noble was being outfitted with a gauzy cloak made up of a shimmery mesh in the exact color of his spark and directed to stand with his honor guard. It made the blue and white mech fidget to realize he was really going through with this.

His honor guard consisted of Quikwit and Scattershot on his left, Blaster and Smokescreen on his right, Jazz leading, and Bumblebee protecting the rear. Serving in the honor guard for a bonding ceremony was restricted to family and close friends, and until now Mirage had never realized he had so many true friends. It was very touching.

The group moved forth through the Ops portion of the base, into the back passage to the Femme Division, and down the tunnels to the Femme Underground.

Mirage recognized the landscape after a while and it warmed his spark that the femmes would allow the use of the Grand Audience Chamber, the architecture and design of which were the ancestral source of that used in the Towers even millennia later. For a moment he was truly grateful to his Ops brethren, he never would have dared consider asking the femmes to let him use such a historically important place for his bonding. Then Mirage remembered that he had been ambushed and forced into bonding his loves whether he was ready or not.

The blue and white was led into the antechamber for the greathall and his honor guard left, with the exception of Jazz. The black and white turned to him. "Ya readeh fo' this?"

Mirage glared. "My beloveds' and I had only just agreed to bond. How prepared do you think I am?!"

The saboteur chuckled. "Well, no time like the present!"

Mirage was not appeased. "The earliest date we were discussing was three tridecs out!"

Jazz sobered unexpectedly. "If ya wait, there may not be a 'nother chance ta, leas' not like ya wan'."

Mirage's meta sharpened into startled clarity. "Why? What has happened in the one orn since we returned that would make that so?"

Jazz shrugged noncommittally. "Nothin' concrete, jus' feelin's n' inferences from stuff tha' passed ova' mah desk."

Mirage nodded, Jazz's hunches were famously infamous for being eerily accurate. While he still did not see himself as ready to have this ceremony, he would not challenge fate's penchant for improbable change. He braced himself with the knowledge that his prebondeds loved him and had expressed that love in numerous ways. Mirage also knew that he loved them enough to ask for a bond and that this bout of nervousness was baseless fear. Suddenly, his meta was drawn back to his dearly departed brother's bonding. He remembered hiding behind a drape as a sparkling watching Illusion pace frantically, spouting off myriads of reasons why his prebonded would leave him at the altar. Their genitors, Magik and Shimmer, had taken great amusement in their mature youngling's worries, but dutifully reassured him that bonding jitters were normal. In the present, Mirage told himself the advice still held true and began cycling his systems through circuit su exercises until his spark was mostly calm.

The spiral door into the Audience Chamber opened to allow Blackshot to exit, but it was so brief that he could not catch a glimpse of who else might be in there. His commander circled him, inspecting the medics and persona specialists' work.

"You look absolutely wonderful Mirage, your genitors would be proud I think."

Mirage flushed at the obvious pride in the black and silver mech's voice. "Thank you sir."

Blackshot tipped up his subordinate's chin. "Your sire, carrier, and brother are not here to present you to your bondeds, would you allow Jazz and I to honor their memory by standing in their stead?"

Mirage's vents hitched around the pang of grief and the touching offer. He reached out to Jazz who took his servo sympathetically. "It would be _my_ honor to allow it, sir."

The first strains of the traditional crystal aria could be heard through the spiral door, so Blackshot and Jazz took their positions in front of him.

The door opened.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Trailbreaker stood stiffly in parade rest at the fore of the room. The whole place was decked out like something out of a holonovel and the splendor made him feel slightly out of place. Both he and Hound had been painted and polished until their colors were deep, lustrious, and silky to the touch. It was treatment fit for the highest of nobles, and while Trailbreaker did not feel worthy of such treatment, but he had never known that Hound's proper color was so deeply beautiful. He really wanted to run his servos all over it and fill it with streaks of his own carbon black.

Trailbreaker ruthlessly cutoff that line of thought before his internal temperature could rise enough to trip his cooling fans. Instead he cast his meta to his vows and the presentation of their bonding gift to Mirage. The gift was standardized for bonding ceremonies among nobles of Crystal City origin which made the choosing simpler, if not easier. Bonded nobles in that citystate wore ornate masks gifted to them by their bonded as a sign of their devotion. The more decorated the mask the more value was implied on the worth of the noble in the optics of his bonded.

The mask he and hound had purchased for Mirage was nothing like what he might have received before the war. The constant attack on the trade industry had resulted in making even common resources priceless commodities. So, instead of bankrupting themselves trying to acquire subpar materials they had gotten creative. They had bartered with the science division, who had been scheduled to debark on a geological survey of a crystalline planetoid for any suitable crystals they might find. Then Hound had volunteered to scout out the rumors of Decepticon activity near the ruins of Crystal City. Between the two they had scavenged enough materials for what they wanted. The most difficult part had been finding a metalsmith that could properly meld the raw components together. They finally found such a mech in Praxus, but the mech's forging price was so high it would have wiped out their lifesavings and still left them in considerable debt. They despaired of getting Mirage what he properly deserved, until Jazz caught wind of what they were doing. They still were not how he had found out; they had not even been courting Mirage at the time. However, inappropriate threats of what would befall mechs who broke an opsmech's brother's spark aside, Jazz had directed their notice towards a certain golden frontliner. Thus began one of the strangest friendships either of them had ever had. Sunstreaker had flat out told them no when they first asked, but that did not stop them from becoming oddly good friends. Trailbreaker had put their request out of his meta, and he and Hound were debating how they would acquire the needed credits for the Praxian artisan when Sunstreaker came to them demanding the supplies for the mask's construction. They both expressed to him that they had not befriended him to coerce the result they wanted. Sunstreaker just repeated his demand. After they turned over the raw materials the temperamental artiste informed them that he would make the mask his way and there would be no external input welcome. They were hesitant to just let him go, but in the end they were glad for it. Never had they seen such beautiful craftsmechship…

The door was opening!

Trailbreaker's attention was laser-focused immediately on the vision of beauty that was his soon-to-be second bonded. Mirage was mostly hidden behind the wall of Jazz and Blackshot's frames, but just enough was visible to make the big mech's vents stutter. He distantly heard Hound gasp beside him and the slow march to the fore of the room seemed agonizingly long. The group of witnesses came to attention and saluted as the procession passed them. There were many in attendance, more than any of the three had expected. By the time the little parade reached the front Jazz was openly smirking at them, but they did not care, their optics were only for Mirage.

Generals Prowl and Mudd stepped forward from their places behind their respective subordinates and called forth to the assembly in unison. "Three sparks before Primus to join. Who here will take forth the mantle to bind these three as one?"

Mirage resisted the urge to look around the room. All the high ranking officials here were already spoken for.

The side portal spiraled open.

Red plating gleamed in the brilliant light of the crystal lamps and blue flames seemed to come alive.

Mirage reached forward and snagged Jazz's dorsal plating to steady himself. He sent a tight band comm to his devious commanders. -:- You did not… I… you… how… you got the Prime! -:-

The noble could feel Jazz laughing despite the silence. -:- Onleh tha best woul' do Raj. -:-

Optimus Prime took his place on the podium. "We who reign claim right of union for this triad."

Mudd and Prowl acknowledged the statement. "We who stand witness recognize the authority of this mech to join our charges in sacred union."

The Prime lifted his arms out. "It is recognized that these two are a dyad. Whom is offered to make this dyad a triad?"

Blackshot and Jazz rotated inward and sideways to reveal Mirage to the Lord of Cybertron. "We who stand as family do present Lord Mirage of the Elliptic Tower, Second Creation of Magik and Shimmer, High Lords of Elliptic Tower."

The Prime nodded and expanded his reach to encompass Trailbreaker and Hound. "And who is it that believes himself worthy of bonding this spark of Primus?"

Trailbreaker was ever so glad that his commander was responsible for responding to that question as the knowledge of exactly _whom_ he was about to bond. He knew, objectively, that class hierarchy meant nothing to Mirage, but the old fear of stepping above one's own station was still there. Mudd was speaking for Hound now as Trailbreaker mentally shook himself and paid attention.

"…Regent Hound, last Lord and Caretaker of the Crystal Forest of the Southern Pole, First Creation of Kanis and Lupis, High Lords of the Forest."

Hound had never known his family was titled due to losing them so early in his functioning, but Mudd had assured him the data was genuine. Prowl bowed to Mudd and took over the declaration. "I present for consideration Noble Trailbreaker, Knight of Cybertron and Squire of the Last Wilderness Waypoint, First Creation of Wilde and Waymaker."

Trailbreaker had to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders; he did not think using one's Sigma Blessings should be lauded with a knightship. The Prime had disagreed, he had said that any mech willing to lay down his spark for others in such a manner deserved what reward Cybertron could offer.

Optimus Prime let his arms fall to his sides. "The offering of these three sparks is seen in full by Primus. Let the intendeds come forth that their union may be attested by all."

Mirage stepped forward to join servos with beloveds.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The whole evening was a blur after that, though Mirage vaguely remembered wishing Jazz luck in his own romantic endeavor just before Trailbreaker scooped him into his arms. That certainly broke the noble out of his haze. The black mech carried him to their new quarters, then Hound took him from their larger bonded and laid him gently on the berth like finest crystal. Trailbreaker lit crystal lanterns around the room then sat on the berth with his two conjunx endura. They started with his servos; pressing delicate little kisses to each of his digits. They migrated to his palms, then up his arms and over his shoulders. They took turns taking a taste of his lips. Mirage whimpered. They pulled back and gave the same treatment to each other. He knew they were attempting to let him cool down, but watching his two loves rev each other to within a picoklik of overload, was intoxicatingly hot.

Mirage wriggled and moaned.

Trailbreaker and Hound turned to him with smoldering optics. They leaned down to tease him more, but he was _done_. His chestplates released with a hiss of the locks and the white-gold of his spark filled the room like a beacon. The first bold leaders reached through the cracks of his unfurling spark crystal to beckon the other sparks to join with it. Trailbreaker dipped to kiss that precious offering, and Hound bared his spark in return. Mirage gasped at what he saw. Hound's spark was purest white, brilliant in its vitality.

Such sparks were rare. Cunningly intelligent, gentle, peaceful natures, fierce protectors; these sparks were the priests, the doctors, the nurturing surrogates. Such sparks were said to carry the healthiest, strongest of sparklings and they sire the most powerful mecha. Many of the noble families in the twoers sought such mechs for their communal concubines so that their strength would be passed on to the family. Mirage's tower never had any communal concubines as the House Elliptic believed that all sparks had rights in the optics of Primus. It had always been an unpopular opinion, but now Mirage was glad for it. Now, he could see Hound as the precious gift Primus had intended him to be, not the toy other nobles would have seen.

Then Trailbreaker's sparkplates shifted too and Mirage fell in love all over again. That deep rich red was the sign of a sentinel, a guardian, a stubborn protector. It was a spark worthy of an Omega Guardian. Mirage knew that spark ready was considered spiritual mumbo-jumbo at best or functionist dogma at worst, but he could not help thinking how accurately it portrayed both his loves. _His _conjunx endura.

Their spark crystals irised open fully…

And three sparks became one.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ratchet peered imperiously at the knee assembly in front of him. He poked at it experimentally and the subject giggled. Ratchet glared up at the subject as he poked the joint again, but the subject only giggled harder.

Ratchet huffed. "You know it's generally not normal to _giggle_ when being examine by a physician. Normal victims usually sit in fear and trepidation."

The subject tried to be still and serious, but it _tickled_! After a few more pokes Bluestreak could not stand it anymore and he giggled again. "I'm sorry Uncle Ratchet, you're just not scary!"

Ratchet shot up and _loomed_. "Not scary!" he boomed. "I'll show you not scary!"

Bluestreak shrunk back instinctively, but instead of the expected strike he found himself writhing in laughter as questing digits wriggled over his belly. As soon as he began gasping and begging playfully for mercy the youngling was swept up to snuggle against a large, safe chassis.

Bluestreak stretched his servos out as wide as he could over that warm chestplate and whispered. "I love you Uncle Ratchet."

Ratchet looked around the medbay to be sure it was empty and whispered back, "I love you too bitlet."

The medic carried the grey youngling over to a specialized scanner and placed him on the accompanying berth. "Did I tell you I have a present for you yet?"

Bluestreak looked up in speechless wonder and Ratchet chuckled. "Starting next orn you will have two new friends joining you in your studies."

Bluestreak gasped. "Friends! I've never had friends before! What are they like? Are they nice? Do you think they will want to play with me? OOOooooh! I heard a sparkling once in the marketplace say that they were staying the dark-cycle at a friend's house. Do you think that is normal for friends? Would Prowl and Smokey let me do that?"

The flood of eager questions flowed onward. Ratchet grinned and answered as best he could until it was time for Bluestreak to go to berth. Ordinarily this was the advent of an appearance by Prowl or Smokescreen, but with those two off at a bonding ceremony Ratchet was left to sparkling-sit. Not that it was in any way a hardship. The little grey mechling went down peacefully on the spare cot in Ratchet's office and he stayed quiet until he fell asleep. This gave the medic plenty of silence in which to do his reports and patient updates.

Shortly before the dark-cycle's zenith Prowl arrived to retrieve his trinebrother. A seriously overcharged Smokescreen hung between black and white doorwings murmuring about cute crooked horns and yummy vibrations. Ratchet was hard-pressed not to laugh, but he managed to refrain for the sake of the sleeping youngling. A quick scan of the upright Praxian showed that Prowl was sober, and therefore capable of caring for Bluestreak during the dark-cycle. The stoic black and white scooped up his second charge of the evening, flicked a wing at Ratchet in thanks, and disappeared back out into the great wide world.

Prowl watched the lump of Praxians make its, somehow still graceful, way out of the medbay and shook his helm. It still always surprised him when Prowl exerted his hidden strength; he could not help but think that Jazz was in for a surprise when that relationship advanced to more intimate levels. And that was another thing to shake his helm over. Prowl had visited the Medical Wing immediately to update his medical decision permissions, and endure the traditional ribbing from his friend.

Ratchet wondered as he moved back to his desk if Jazz was aware how deep Ratchet and Prowl's relationship really was. Well, he would find out eventually; at the shovel talk at the very least. The medic picked up the last of Bluestreak's test results, an in-depth scan of the recovery of his spark. The bitlet's spark was actually progressing faster than anticipated and Ratchet could only contribute it to the difference in environment. The last portion of the scan was a review of the sparkling's spark code to make sure no permanent damage had been done by the destruction and replacement of so much spark energy. Ratchet read it… then reread it. Something was off about it. An odd suspicion struck him. He pulled up a file on his console, compared it to the youngling's results, and then sat there, stunned.

He had to call Prowl.

* * *

Every1's Beta: Raj and Bee might later, when bonding gets mentioned because right now neither of them know how serious this whole thing is, but until that happens, nope. Blame Jazz, he is keeping them in the dark because, well, see the just posted chapter above. He does NOT want SpecOps involved.

Guest: thank you!

RainbowGuardian13: I had wondered what happened to you, you were a very faithful reader. Glad you're back and that I was able to give you some happiness. Many wishes of luck and good fortune in your classes this year!

Starfire201: Bumblebee's parents are not really bad mechs, but even good mechs make bad decisions sometimes. I haven't decided if they will reconcile or not, but I am leaning towards 'yes'. Smokescreen's talk was actually the easiest of all the talks I will have to write, and quite fun too.


	15. Chapter 15: Where is Thy Brother

Happy Autumn Everyone! This is my favorite season of the year for so many reasons(all the colored leaves, Thanksgiving, the list goes on)! I hope this chapter finds y'all in good spirits.

Warnings: mentions of past rapes (non-graphic), mention of childhood trauma (non-graphic).

FYI: November is NaNoWriMo, which means I won't be posting again until December. I hope to get the large majority of this story finished during that time as my goals is to finish this story by January. I'm thinking 5 or 6 chapters to the end, but we'll see.

* * *

Chapter 15:

Prowl rose from recharge to a summons from Ratchet. There were no urgency tags on the message, but the phrasing hinted that Prowl was not to delay. He checked his schedule for the first shift of the light cycle and decided that if he pushed the mid-orn tactical session back he could fit a half-joor meeting with Ratchet in after the morning staff meeting at first light. The tactician pinged Ratchet with the offered time and received a grumpy acceptance along with an annotation to bring 'the fragging overcharged dipslag that moonlights as Smokescreen' with him. Prowl made a note to inquire if Smokey had been skipping his physicals again and get up to prepare for his busy orn.

[:].[:].[:].[:]

Jazz awoke to the helmache of the century, and red plating. He shook his helm to clear his vision and immediately regretted it as a massive wave of nausea passed through him. Jazz buried his helm in the conveniently warm plating. When he no longer felt like he was going to toss his tanks he began to investigate his recent memories. Jazz was really hoping he had not interfaced with anyone as it would _really _put a crimp in the continuation of his courtship with Prowl. From what bleary memories he could piece together, he had well overcharged at Mirage's reception, tried to pull a not-overcharged Prowl in for a dance and snog, succeeded with the dance but not the snog, and then been left in the capable servos of his amica endura for the remainder of the dark-cycle.

Jazz groaned. He was going to have to apologize profusely to Prowl for his overly forward behavior. The saboteur was not used to going slow in his relationships, few as they were. However, he knew that Prowl was his One and would do anything, including be completely celibate, to ensure the Praxian knew he was serious. The remainder of Jazz's fragmented memories depicted him stumbling through the halls of the base with Blaster, singing about homesick mechs going home to longing lovers, until they reached the hostmech's quarters and stumbled to the berth. What followed was an increasingly incoherent discussion about doorwings and luscious bumpers in white and black, and red and blue.

Jazz frowned at the memory. It really sounded like Blaster was crushing on Smokescreen there for a klik, but that just could not be correct. Right? Refreshing the memories did not change their content however, and Jazz was forced to conclude that, yes, his best friend, his amica, had the hots for his prebonded's brother.

The warm chassis under the saboteur rumbled and shifted as Blaster came back to the land of the functioning. Jazz could hear the gears in the bigger mech's chest compartment cycle through their paces as a self-diagnostic searched for signs of damage or interfacing. Jazz could also hear the moment that the communications mech registered that he was not alone in the berth, it was highlighted by a _skrrrklunk_ as Blaster's pump double-timed at the same moment his flow valves seized closed. Jazz winced, that had to hurt.

A servo was raised to point a digit imperiously at the ceiling. "One,… we didn' in'erface. We didn'. 'M sure 'f it. Ah,… Ah, think. Two… Ah don' 'member two… i'was 'portant." He poked Jazz in the side. "Ya 'member i' 'f meh, k?"

Jazz rubbed his aching helm against the red plating in a facsimile of a nod. Whatever Blaster suggest Jazz was going to agree to, it was less painful that way. The saboteur knew if his pain levels hit a certain threshold his ops codes would trigger its pain management system. He could manually trigger the system, but the instant relief would come with emotional suppression that he did not want. Not to mention that once an opsmech got used to using those systems whenever it was convenient, it often became an addiction. Since the start of the war there had been one hundred and thirty one documented cases of programming abuse, and of those, forty deactivated from compromised decision making, twelve had lost the ability to use the systems and subsequently succumbed to Decepticon torture, nineteen became so dependent that they lost the ability to emote normally, and two, only two, were rehabilitated successfully. Yeah, Jazz was not going that route. Not now, not ever. Of course that meant making the other choice and retrieving an overcharge patch from the Medical Wing. Neither Ratchet nor any of his subordinates were in attendance at the reception which meant the CMO was unlikely to part with the patches willingly, he was rather cold-sparked towards overcharge acquired at unsanctioned parties.

Jazz sighed and assessed his ability to successfully stealth through the Hatchet's impenetrable lair. The twinging through his chassis and helm indicated not good.

A horrendously loud noise shattered the blessed silence of the room.

Jazz and Blaster both flung their arms over their poor over-sensitized audials, but to no avail. Had their sensory horns been independently sentient they would have revolted and crawled away.

The hideous sound assaulted them again and they moaned twin pleas for mercy. None was forthcoming as it rang again.

Rang…

…Rang…

Wait,… Jazz struggled to sit up. The noise was _ringing_. That meant it was not an attack on the vulnerable audials of the impaired victims of an unwise overcharge!

Jazz slipped sideways and fell out of the berth. Crashing to the floor did his tanks no favors, but Jazz was determined. He stumbled to his peds and tried to affect a vague resemblance to his normal graceful glide. The stumbling and missteps made it really difficult though. Absently Jazz wished he was still overcharged enough to blame his poor balance on an unstable, semi-sentient floor out to trip him. Finally, the aching saboteur made it to the door where he leaned against the cool frame for a blessedly relieving long moment. He could sense the mech on the other side reaching up to ring the chime again so Jazz swiftly keyed the door open.

Black and white plating gleamed in the bright hall lights, so silky smooth that it took everything Jazz had not to reach out and stroke it. Delectable doorwings tilted in the saboteur's direction and he smiled to know his Prowler was worried about him. Jazz's smile turned goofy as he remembered he was now openly courting and being courted by this beautiful, intelligent mech.

"Hey Prowler." His own intelligence however, was in the proverbial waste receptacle.

Jazz watched in a happy daze as Prowl reached up one slim servo to touch the Polyhexian's forehelm. "Jazz? Are you well this morning?"

Jazz tried to stand up straight, the wall was not supporting him, no sir, not him. In fact, _he_ was holding the _wall_ up. Mmm, Prowl's servo felt _so_ good as it soothed over the frazzled nerves in Jazz's sensor horns and helm. Oh, and look, the thoughtful mech was offering him a cube of coolant and an overcharge patch. Aww, Prowl was the best. It did not occur to Jazz that he was not communicating verbally with the tactician until the black and white leaned closer to peer into a still-fuzzy visor.

"Jazz I do believe you are still overcharged. I do not believe I have ever seen you in such a state before."

The saboteur finally found his vocalizer in the pit it was hiding in and dragged it back from the depths. "Ah ain' evah had highgrade li' tha' b'fo'."

Prowl frowned as he helped the other black and white to the nearest couch. "Jazz, I have personally seen you imbibe approximately twice what you consumed last dark-cycle at the sanctioned victory celebrations. Do not pretend to me that you are naïve when it comes to highgrade." A secondary thought thread presented itself to the Praxian. "Unless the drinks last orn were doctored! Jazz, are you detecting the presence of any contaminants?"

Jazz chuckled as he snuggled deeper into the proffered shoulder. "Now, Prowler. The drinks weren' spiked. Ya spendin' too much time wit' Red Alert."

Prowl looked down at his courtmate. "Then explain why you are visibly affected by what you consumed last orn."

"Well, 's like this. The highgrade we normally drink 's sad slag, even tha good stuff b'fo' tha war was nuthin' ta meh, 's a side'ffect o' mah 'nhanced systems. Bu' tha' stuff yesterorn was Towers ultragrade. It's twice or thrice refined highgrade fermented fo' at least a cent'ry n' left to cure fo' a couple gen'rations."

An old memory triggered in Prowl's meta. He had been attending a gala with Sentinel shortly after their relationship had truly taken a more intimate turn and the false Prime had offered Prowl a shimmering cube of what the buffoon claimed was highgrade. Prowl had never had opportunity to try even mild intoxicants before, but he was eager to please his new lover. He was never able to clearly remember what happened after that first taste, but the remaining fragments insinuated a nasty picture of Sentinel allowing several other mechs to use Prowl's frame before the giant red mech took his own turn. The next morning, after getting medical aid for his overcharge and abused parts, Prowl had giveb Sentinel a stern lecture on consent. The false Prime had given a half-sparked apology and the excuse that he himself had been overcharged. Prowl had foolishly believed him; it had been the beginning of the long arduous end.

Prowl shuddered and shook away his dark thoughts. It was in the past, he had Jazz now and always would if things turned out right. Since that long ago orn though, Prowl had never touched highgrade again, not even when Ratchet visited after a bad battle. He wondered now if what Sentinel gave him was ultragrade and if so, might he be able to try highgrade without losing control of his faculties. He would wait until later in their relationship to inform Jazz of this though.

"Ah kno' ya don' drink highgrade as'a rule, bu' ya have tried it b'fo' right?"

Or perhaps he would have this conversation with his extra-perceptive courtmate now. Drat it. Prowl was _not_ ready to tell Jazz about Sentinel, so the question was, how to phrase his aversion without raising suspicion? "I have tasted something that my _friend_ claimed was highgrade. It deleted nine joors of memory, left my memory banks for the entire orn fragmented, and made me very ill. Since then I have not partaken in any form of highgrade."

Surprisingly Jazz said nothing, merely hummed in sympathy until he got his thoughts in order. "So, ya were tricked inta drinkin' ultragrade?"

"Yes." Prowl still had no idea how Jazz was taking this information, the mech's usually expressive frame language was very muted.

"So, tha question 's if you'd be 'nt'rested in evah tryin' tha real thing in'a safe settin'."

It was not a question, not really, and Prowl chose to answer it neutrally. "Perhaps, someorn in the future, if a mech I trusted were to ask."

Jazz hummed again and discretely changed the subject. "So, Prowler, please tell meh ya brought meh more than one overcharge patch, cuz Ah don' think Ah'm'a make it through tha staff meetin' like this."

Prowl chuckled and rumbled his engine soothingly, to the apparent delight of the snuggling saboteur. He dared to reach up and softly stroke a tender sensor horn while he retrieved the desired patch from subspace. Jazz moaned and made grabby servos at the proffered blessed-device-of-miraculous-relief. Prowl chuckled again as Jazz oozed down across his lap after the application of the patch. "Perhaps this will teach you not to overindulge next time."

Jazz 'pfft'ed and draped himself more firmly over Prowl's lap. The amused tactician poked him down his side until he found a ticklish place. Then the devious Praxian circled that spot, flirting as close as he could to the edges. Jazz tensed in anticipation.

"I'm afraid Jazz," Circle, circle. "That we do not have much more time to dawdle." Circle, circle. "Really, we should be getting you to the racks." Circle, circle.

Jazz grumped a 'noooo' and buried his faceplates in Prowl's lap. Prowl smiled faintly and squired his digit inward. Jazz wwrithed and laughed until he wheezed. "Ah surrender, Ah surrender!"

Jazz flopped back as Prowl smoothed the last convulsions out. "Ya've vanguished meh Prowler, Ah'm at ya mercy."

Prowl leaned down until their nasal ridges almost touched. "Then, my beautiful prisoner, it is time to get up and make yourself useful. The ornly staff meeting is in a joor and you need to be presentable for your portion of the tactical report."

Jazz chuckled and oozed his chassis towards the floor until he was about to fall off, then flipped over onto his peds. He held out a servo to his prebonded. "Well then, what're we waitin' fo'."

Prowl stood with smooth grace. "After you."

[:].[:].[:].[:]

Prowl watched from the Tactical Department's holoprojector lectern as the Iacon-stationed members of the command element filed in. They were using Tactical's battlefield staging center for this orn's staff meeting due to the number of necessary attendees and the scope of what was to be discussed. Optimus entered last and plugged his authorizations for Departmental Lockdown into the console. Blaster queued up the secure lines to the other bases. The commanders and senior staff of those bases came online and activated the prepared mobile holo-emitters. The emitters were a new invention from Wheeljack to allow absent officers to physically interact with the other officers during meetings. This was the inaugural run for the devices due to delayed rollout while Red Alert tested and encrypted the pit out of them.

Once everyone was settled Prowl began. "As previously discussed, Megatron is planning a progressive attack across and around Cybertron, see report 691541 subsection 5 for the relevant supporting data. The Prime has tasked Tactical Department with finding a plan that preserves the most Cybertronian sparks disregarding all else. We have done so."

Prowl queued up the first projection. "In response to the parameters given to us by Prime we have formulated a plan of resistance. The first portion of our counter-campaign consists of an evacuation plan for those cities scheduled for eminent attack. We _will not_ be evacuating wholesale, instead we shall begin with a sort of whisper campaign wherein we encourage mecha to 'visit' family and friends in other citystates only to evacuate them once they are safely out of the path of danger. While this is occurring we will speak with the city leaders about requiring firewall updates for all sparklings, elders, and those chronically ill. When these mecha are brought in to the medics they will be spirited away by the femmes and the able-chassised members prepared for later evacuation. When the Decepticons are close to the city we will alert the remaining citizens to leave, giving it the appearance that we simply placed the cities on high alert. When the last of the citizens are gone we will release drone 'mecha', afforded to us courtesy of Wheeljack, that will appear and behave like panicked mechs fleeing before the Decepticons. Without any real mecha to reveal the truth, the drones should fool the 'Cons into believing they have slaughtered the city."

The Ultra Magnus hologram raised a questioning servo. "Won't the Decepticons notice the difference when they begin gutting the frames for parts?"

Prowl shook his helm. "No, the drones have ben manufactured to be nearly identical to proper mech frames down to the faux spark chambers. The only difference is that there will be no spark present."

Ratchet's servo went up next. "Define 'nearly'."

"As in not possessing a spark or proper mech programming. It shall be impossible for the Decepticons to reactivate the drones as 'deactivation' will render them inert with mech-like shadow programming just as any newly deceased Cybertronian would."

"Have you thought of planting false information in the memory banks to further throw the 'Cons off our tracks?" questioned Blackshot.

Prowl nodded. "That is an excellent suggestion, I trust your department can handle the exact nature of the data that is to be left, General?"

Hums and nods of assent circulated the room until Red Alert clued into something important. "Where exactly are we planning to _put_ all the refugees? Iacon certainly does not have the space for so many; we're full up with just the minibots! Not to mention the security nightmare such an undertaking would be! Already we are stretched thin trying to prevent the 'Cons from accessing our bases! To expect it to extend further would leave so many gaps. There is no way my staff and I would be able to stop the leaks! We would be overrun in decacycles!"

Red Alert's panicked rant was halted by Inferno dragging two digits down his dorsal column. The Helm of the Search and Rescue Corp continued the motion until he was sure the profuse shower of blue sparks would stay gone.

Prowl politely waited until Red was focused fully in the present then answered his amica's question. "To give a satisfactory answer I must first remind everyone that this plan is sanctioned by the Prime himself after much deliberation with the Matrix's counsel."

He waited until the officers acknowledged this fact before continuing. "We will be abandoning Cybertron."

The room exploded in an uproar. Prowl noted that of all the officers presently protesting, Magnus, Jazz and the rest of Ops, and ElitaOne were moving closer to him in a show of support. Odd, he had not predicted any would understand the need for this portion of this plan without extensive explanation. It finally took direct interference from Optimus for Prowl to regain the floor.

"Despite that such a measure seems extreme, leaving our planet empty for the Decepticons is actually the best option on servo to both protect the remaining civilians _and_ possibly end this war with the Autobots the victors. It is no secret that energon is in shorter and shorter supply. The reason for this is largely attributed to our steady path away from Binaura, but even when our path was close to the twin stars the mines were drying up."

There were a few disgruntled faceplates, but most seemed disinclined to contradict him.

"By leaving Cybertron we accomplish a two-fold mission. One, to seek out new sources of energon amongst the stars. And two, leaving the Decepticons alone long enough for them to destroy themselves."

"How in'd Allspark ahre yah figurin' that?" Ironhide asked.

"The large majority of the Decepticons are used to a war-based society. They were promised a world without restrictive laws and this is what they will expect when they conquer the planet. Once we are no longer around to divert their attention they will need to start rebuilding. Without respect for law and order they will chafe at needing to return to jobs and facilities they were once slaves in. Megatron and his officers will likely try to establish some sort of authority but the Decepticons will rebel. Projections show a 99.8256% probability that infighting will become rampant within five vorns and subfactions should split off soon after. Within one century the internal fighting will have almost completely decimated the Decepticon army and the few subfactions remaining will be so entrenched in grudges they will be easy to pick off by our returning forces. Especially when you further consider the effects that energon deprivation will have on them, all while we remain healthy with offworld resources."

Ironhide nodded his approval. "So, thah end result is us retakin' Cybertron permanently."

"Yes, the Decepticons' original goals were to acquire justice for their lives as slaves. We once desired to end this war with a peace treaty and mutually beneficial restructuring of the laws for all of those mistreated by the elite. However, the Decepticons have proven time and again that they will only be satisfied with complete dominion of this planet and a direct reversal of the old status quo. Their determination to exact revenge to the detriment of all else will result in the extinction of our entire race. When they have extinguished themselves, we will then come in and remake this world the way it should always have been."

"Until all are one." The room intoned.

There was a moment of silent introspection as the officers came to terms with abandoning their home even for a short time. It brought home just how dire the war situation was.

Of course it was Red Alert, ever focused on the details, who got them back on track. "That still leaves the question of what, exactly, we will be doing with the refugees."

In answer Prowl activated the first diorama. "Extensive examination of the Scout Corp's star charts has yielded fifteen obscure planetoids that orbit stars strong enough for solar harvesting. The planets themselves have neither free-forming energon deposits, nor were they ever seeded. This lack of conventional energon should prevent the Decepticons from actively choosing to explore the systems. Additionally, all save one of the systems are surrounded by nearly unnavigable nebulae, magnetic anomalies, and other such deterrents. We shall send the refugees from each citystate to their own colony in one of these systems along with a corresponding Autobot garrison in case the Decepticons do choose to brave the natural protections of the systems. The engineering department will be tasked with supplying the appropriate solar harvesters as well as technicians to maintain them and manufacture more."

"What about the poor cogs that get sent to the unprotected system?" Ratchet interrupted.

"I was coming to that." Prowl replied as he brought up the appropriate star chart. "The last system is a nine planet infant system whose juvenile star still tends to put out massive solar flares. There will be no colony sent here due to the need for any Cybertronian inhabitants to live underground. Solar collectors on the surface of the planet will need special shielding as well."

Air Commander Thundercall frowned in confusion. "If the system is unusable for our purposes, why mention it at all?"

Prowl observed them all carefully. "Because this is where High Command will be going."

The declaration was met with mixed opinions. Red Alert and Ironhide were in definite favor as they envisioned how the natural defense would help then protect the Prime and the Command Element. Ratchet and Thundercall disliked it immensely. The former because of all the ways stupid idiots could get hurt in an environment that and the latter because of the lack of free sky.

"How will you deal with the sky hunger the flight element will suffer?" the seeker asked.

"Air Command will be stationed with a garrison on a planet with mostly landmass, little water, and little inclement weather. Perfect for flying." Prowl stated with a faint smile.

Thundercall's wing's twitched in pleasure, he should have known Prowl would see to even the little details.

Prowl looked about the room for more questions and when none were forthcoming, moved on. "Now, since you are all aware of the broad overview of the plan, I shall turn the podium over to Jazz to tell you the specifics of your jobs."

The two mechs exchanged places and Jazz began. "Ultra Magnus, let's start wit' ya…"

[:].[:].[:].[:].[:]

Unlike the majority of the Autobots, Prowl had never been afraid to visit the Medical Wing. Ratchet was not some plasma-breathing, acid-spewing, rust monster like some of the soldiers believed, _thank you_ Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Since the orn Optimus had first introduced them, the medic and the tactician had been fast friends.

Even now, when he could feel a cold chill creep down his dorsal column he did not fear the medbay. Prowl looked for the doctor in his office first, but he was not there. A subsequent search of the medical storerooms and records room also yielded no results. The Praxian stood in the middle of the primary medical ward and contemplated where to look next. He momentarily considered pinging Ratchet, but the medic had been in an odd mood. Such moods generally meant that the good doctor should be left alone until such time as he contacted you, and attempting to comm him before he was ready would result in a blistering tirade just before he hung up on you.

Fortunately for the tactician, the grumpy doctor in question emerged from a private room to glare at him balefully. "What are you waiting for?! My plating to rust? Get your aft in here before I decide to make you a wall ornament!"

Prowl rolled his optics, but complied with a minimum of snark. "One of these orn I shall sneak a tracker under your plating so you can actually be found when I seek you."

Ratchet swatted at his aft for the impertinence, but Prowl danced out of the way with an equally insolent flick of his doorwings. The private room was mostly dark except for a consultation screen over the berth. The holographic screen showed some sort of data comparison, some of which had already been highlighted. Prowl looked at it, helm cocked, wondering what precisely Ratchet had found that would need a tactician's aid.

Ratchet circled the berth and pulled up a color scan of a spark. Prowl recognized it as Bluestreak's and had a nanoklik to worry that something might be wrong with his trinebrother before Ratchet addressed him.

"As per protocol, I took specialized spark cans of Bluestreak yesterorn. The results, while much improved, have raised additional questions."

Prowl stepped closer to examine the proffered scans, glad to see the black 'dead' spaces were nearly gone. "If it is within my ability to do so, I will answer as many queries as I can."

Ratchet nodded. "I need to know if trinebonding affects more than just spark color."

The white and black Praxian tilted his helm as he perused the historical data relevant to the medic's question. "Can you be more specific please Ratchet?"

The medic sighed. "Can the dual influence of your sparks on such a young, developing spark alter the spark coding?"

Prowl frowned deeply. "No. Our spark coding is cemented at the point of emergence. It is possible for it to be altered before emergence, which is how prenatal adoption is finalized, but not after. If so, all of the forced trined younglings would register as members of the spark lines of their captors."

"Then how in the seventh pit do you explain _this_?!" Ratchet exclaimed, throwing up the initial comparison Prowl had seen when he entered the room.

"I confess that I do not know what I am looking at Ratchet."

The medic huffed irritatedly. "This is a direct comparison of your spark code, Smokescreen's, and Bluestreak's. You and Smokescreen share certain markers because you are brothers, but Bluestreak is unrelated. There is no reason for him to be showing those markers too unless your coding is changing his!"

Prowl pondered the quandary and ran it through his battle computer for help. The computer examined the situation and began comparing it to incidents from the Praxian database and events from Prowl's own past in search of an answer. It kept pinging on a certain timestamp and Prowl had to keep rejecting the result as it was impossible. When the battle computer finished its analysis, the erroneous result was its only solution. Prowl tried to make it run the data again, but it pinged him with the supporting data to _prove_ its conclusion. Prowl's logic circuits sparked and began looping on the impossibility that was the only answer.

Ratchet noticed his flickering optics and sprang around the berth to try to stave off the logic loop, to no avail. Just before Prowl crashed he managed to gasp out. "Call Smokey."

Then all went dark.

[:].[:].[:].[:].[:]

Prowl woke to the sound of flipping cards, murmured bets, and clinking credit chits. He sighed mentally, Smokescreen knew he did not approve of him gambling in his presence. Then the black and white's memory files pinged him. Ah yes, he had crashed. Well, might as well face it now rather than risk a subsequent crash because he ignored it. The content of his memory files still threatened to destabilize him again. It was impossible, but it had to be true, there was no other answer.

Prowl reached inward, carefully bypassing his link to Bluestreak, to pull on the calming sensation of his brother's spark. Smokescreen sent him the sense of a question; it was very unusual for Prowl to react so badly post-crash. Prowl transmitted the results of his research and waited. Despite not having similarly delicate logic circuits, Smokescreen was still nearly overwhelmed by what he received.

:: What the holy forgotten slag is this! ::

:: When all other possibilities have been eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be true. ::

:: Okay, I know that was Sheerlock's favorite saying, but even he would tell you there _has_ to be another solution. ::

:: I have reviewed the data and there is not. ::

:: Well then you had better start explaining all this to Ratchet 'cause he got kinda worried when I dropped my cards and started ignoring him. ::

Prowl unshuttered his optics and sat up carefully. "Ratchet, I believe I may know how this problem is possible."

The medic helped him remove the diagnostic leads and monitoring devices before helping him down from the berth. The three adjourned to Ratchet's office where he pulled out the comfy visitors' chairs from a hidden closet, which made Prowl smirk. "Still tailoring your seating to your moods are you?"

"Oh hush." Ratchet huffed. "And sit down before I decided you deserve the unpleasant chairs."

Smokescreen sat, he certainly was not going to take any chances with the medic's temper, but Prowl moved over to the intact wall file cabinet to pull out the secret stash of highgrade. He poured generous servings for both Ratchet and his brother and served the cubes to them.

Ratchet raised an optic ridge at the fortifying substance. "That bad?"

Prowl sighed as he settled in his doorwing friendly chair. "I'm afraid so. The trail of events and facts my battle computer has constructed is both far-fetched and perfectly logical."

"Which is why you crashed?"

"Yes, and also because of the emotional ramification as well. The computer requires one more piece of evidence to prove or disprove my theory. When _precisely_ was Bluestreak unfurled?"

Ratchet rattled off the date and Praxians buried their helms in their servos. Smokescreen emerged first, scrubbing his servos down his tear-filled faceplates, to stare sightlessly at the ceiling. Prowl took a moment longer and Ratchet could tell he was trying to detach so he could share what had happened. The black and white Praxian composed himself and began speaking.

"Our genitors passed away four centuries ago. Roughly one century before that our carrier expressed the desire to have a third sparkling. He had this romantic notion that the three of us would be a trine and therefore family forever. The doctors were hesitant about clearing him due to complications he suffered when I emerged, but he was determined. He sought out another doctor that would approve his carry and found a practitioner in the South End named Syringe who agreed to pass him.

"Our genitors sparked quickly and the carry seemed to be going by the textfile." Prowl paused with a bitterly chagrinned smile. "We were all so excited, but none more so than our carrier, he was ecstatic. Then in the final quintex of the carry Doctor Syringe began to notice some anomalies in the sparklet. He assured us that the sparklet was still strong and should make it through to the emergence. Our carrier went on berth rest to maximize the sparklet's chances and it appeared to be working.

"The day of emergence came and we all gathered at the private medical facility, it was the last vacation I ever took while serving under Sentinel. The emergence lasted what felt like forever and I will never forget the sight of that precious little spark as Doctor Syringe raised it from our carrier's spark and placed it in the containment chamber. His nurse wheeled that bitty spark into the framing room, and… and…"

Prowl's vents hitched and Smokescreen reached over to grasp his brother's servo as they both began to cry again. Ratchet had a horrible feeling that he knew where this story was going, even if he did not know what it had to do with Bluestreak. He downed his highgrade in one long pull.

When it became obvious that Prowl could not continue, Smokescreen took over brokenly. "Our sparkling brother,… well… he didn't make it. Syringe's nurse pulled him away from post-op cleanup a few kliks later and directed him to the framing room. Next thing we know… he's telling us that the bitlet rejected the frame and… and… dissipated! Our carrier never recovered from the spark-deep grief and always swore he could still feel his bitlet.

"That grief eventually caused his deactivation and our sire followed close behind him. Less than a vorn later _Doctor_ Syringe was brought before the courts for over one hundred and fifty counts of malpractice. We couldn't help but blame him for what happened, assuming his incompetence killed our wee brother and indirectly, our genitors."

Prowl had managed to calm enough to continue the narrative at this point. "We put it out of our metas after that in a desperate need to heal. Then Smokey got into his gambling and I was forced to cut all ties lest Sentinel catch hint that I still had living family. Fortunately, the battle computer has a connection to the global database, what remains of it, and it delved deeper. It found mention that the _good doctor_ was reconvicted two centuries later as a member of an elite sparkling-napping ring. The sparkling-nappers would take infant sparklets from hospitals and clinics where their paid doctors would fabricate the deaths of the stolen sparkling, thus making them undocumented sparks. They would sell them to middle class mecha who could not have sparklings of their own."

Ratchet sat stunned as he processed that. "So, he's a victim of sparkling-napping too on top of all his other traumas?!"

Prowl nodded solemnly. "Yes, and the most horrible question that remains from this conclusion is, how do we tell him?"

"Frag. He's already so damaged, I don't know if this would regress him back to square one." The medic commiserated.

Smokescreen leaned forward and held his servos before him in a beseeching manner. "We cannot leave him in the dark. We tell him carefully, but we exclude some details until he is old enough to understand them."

Ratchet nodded, it was a sound solution. "Prowl, call whoever has him right now and let's get this over with."

[:].[:].[:].[:].[:]

Optimus Prime jogged through the halls towards the Medical Wing, putting an extra hop in every few steps. The little grey youngling on his back shrieked with glee every time, which only encouraged the big mech. They sprung into the outer area of the main medbay to the surprise of the three occupants.

Bluestreak chortled in delight. "Prowl, Smokey! Op'mus was telling me about the Knights of Cybertron and their spark swords and how they defended Cybertron from the Kin… Kintesses sons and that they were friends of Alpha Trion and they left Cybertron on a quest for 'Topia and glory! Then he aid you needed me and we decided that I should ride in style like a real knight, but I hadta promise not to tell 'Hide 'cause being a steed's not di'nified, but it's okay 'cause Primes needta not be di'nified sometimes. And now we're here!"

Ratchet and Smokescreen were hard-pressed not to fall over in laughter and Prowl raised an optic ridge at his Prime. "A Prime needs time to be undignified, hmmm?"

He received a sheepish grin and shrug in reply.

Ratchet moved forward and held out his arms to the youngling who leaped trustingly off the Prime's tall shoulder into the second best hug in the world, as Prowl clearly held first place in that category according to Bluestreak. The medic transferred the youngling to his brothers, who snuggled him securely between them on the nearest berth.

"Bluestreak, Smokescreen and I have something very important to tell you, is that okay?"

Bluestreak hesitated, then burst into tears. "You're gonna replace me aren't you!" He wailed. "You found somebody better and you're gonna love him instead of me!"

Prowl and Smokescreen gaped, but recovered swiftly. They wrapped the mechlet in their arms and purred reassurances through their sparkbond until he calmed. Prowl tipped his little chin up so they could be optic to optic. "We will not now, nor will we _ever_, stop loving you or replace you. You are _ours_, just as _we_ are _yours_, and that _NEVER_ change."

It was amazing how much Bluestreak trusted Prowl. A simple statement said with the stern tones of a tactician; most mecha would dismiss such as a breakable promise as all spoken words could be. Bluestreak knew better. He knew Prowl's word was Law, so if Prowl promised he would never be abandoned, he would not be.

Bluestreak nodded calmly and resettled himself. Assured that there would be no more tears presently, Prowl began an abridged version of the tale they had told Ratchet. How their carrier was supposed to have a third sparkling, but an evil mech stole the sparkling. How the mech told them their brother died and how they had cried for his loss. Then they told Bluestreak that someone had brought them evidence that their brother had not died, but been sparkling-napped.

Bluestreak, who had been looking rather weepy at the story, lit up brilliantly. "So I have another trinebrother out there somewhere?!"

Prowl shook his helm. "No Bluestreak, it is just us two."

Bluestreak was confused. "But, you just said…"

"That's because you are the mechling brother we thought we lost." Smokescreen interrupted.

"What!" the youngling exclaimed. "But I had a family, I remember them!"

Prowl scooped him up against his spark. "That family purchased the right to adopt you from the bad doctor."

Bluestreak gasped and clung tight. "So, you're my real family, my real brothers?"

"yes." The elder Praxians answered in unison.

Bluestreak suddenly pushed away and began running out of the medbay. Prowl and Smokescreen leapt after him to try and soothe the obviously distraught youngling. They were stopped in their tracks when Bluestreak spun around in the doorway.

The youngling was indeed crying but he wore a beatific smile. "I gotta go tell the twins! I have a _real_ family! And they LOVE me!"

* * *

RainbowGuardian13: I'm glad you have been enjoying the story, hopefully this is not so bad of a cliffhanger for you.

canikostar99: hopefully this chapter answered your questions. =)

CNightJoy: yup, I love playing with the specops mechs, they get to be so crazy, but everyone sees that as normal which only gives them more leeway to be crazy. LOL.

Starfire201: thank you! I tried very hard not to make the bonding tropish and mimicry of every other bonding ever written in fanfic. Tracks' personality is heavily influenced by Crimson-Moon-Demon(now known as Sincerely Yours- C.M.D)'s stories and Ty-chou's art over on DeviantArt.

Vela513: first, welcome new reader! Hopefully this chapter answered the questions about Bluestreak, and I am glad you enjoy the world-building portions of the story. I too like a well rounded world to play in with my stories and I try to think of what different cultures might have developed over time in semi-isolated areas.

Guest, and QTHorror: thanks!

By the by, this chapter was the bunny that started this whole thing!


	16. Chapter 16: Tiny Shovel

Well, all of you are welcome to laugh at me this month. Every year, during the month of November, I participate in NaNoWriMo. This year I was particularly busy, so I took the time to remind my self periodically to begin my writing regimen on November 1st. On the 21st I reminded myself of that once more, only to look down and finally come out of the brain-death that was keeping me from connecting the dots that it was already November. So, having done such a silly thing, obviously I did not get any NaNoWriMo writing done. Thus I bring you a November Chapter Update.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 16:

"…and now I have brothers just like you! And even before they knew I was their brother they loved me, but now they'll love me more! And we can do brother stuff together and be a proper family, but you'll have to show me how to do that because I never got to be a brother before, or maybe I just don't remember it, 'cause I had a family, but they were just pretending to be my family and I don't remember if they had other sparklings."

Sunstreaker cuddled the babbling grey youngling and paced with an amused look. ::Show him how to be a brother, huh.::

The golden twin had been transmitting the entire one-sided conversation to his brother over their bond and the trepidation flowed freely between them. ::We've never been normal, how are we supposed to teach him what we don't know?!::

::We teach him all the things we always wanted to do and be, then we teach him what we do know. How to protect his family from those who would destroy it.::

Their resolved firmed between them. This bright little spark depended upon them and they would let their halved spark extinguish before they failed him.

"Well bright spark," Sunstreaker said, going back to the physical conversation. "If you wanna be a proper brother there's a couple of things you absolutely have to do. The first of which has to do with Prowl's 'friend' Jazz…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl flew furiously through the work on his desk. Supply requisitions, brig occupancy stats, training schedules, and the like flew into and then out of the Praxian's servos. While datawork such as this was always done with efficiency, this new level of speed was pure distraction. For stopping, meant thinking. Thinking, meant questions. Like, why did they not investigate further when they discovered the doctor had committed malpractice? Why didn't they keep tabs on him after? They were both enforcers, for Primus sake! It was no excuse that it was during the final, most violent orns of his tenure with Sentinel. It was certainly no excuse that he had been avoiding any mention of family to protect them.

Prowl clenched his fists against the desk top, denying fervently the tears streaming down his faceplates. He tried so hard to protect his loved ones. Why, why did he always end up failing them?! Why could none of his plans be successful where his family was concerned?!

As the self-recriminations began to consume him, Prowl felt strong servos cover his own and a warm chassis come to rest between his doorwings.

"Shu, mah Prowler, shu. You jus' tell meh who Ah gotta eviscerate fo' makin' ya cry, hmmm?" Jazz crooned in the distraught Praxian's audial.

Prowl melted into the comforting embrace, but Jazz's statement made him laugh mirthlessly. "Unless you are willing to kill me, Jazz, that's an empty promise."

Jazz released him swiftly and Prowl felt a pang of cold at the abandonment, despite expecting it. He did not expect Jazz to seize his chair, pull it out from the desk, and spin it around. Prowl clutched at the arms to brace himself against the movement and looked down at the now crouching saboteur. Jazz lifted Prowl's servos into his own and began massaging them gently.

"Now Prowler, why don' ya jus' explain whacha mean by tha' statement ta meh." Jazz demanded softly.

"I… I failed my brother." Prowl sobbed. "Because of my incompetence he has been gravely hurt."

Jazz was confused. He could see that Prowl was hoping for absolution, but the saboteur did not know what he was referring to. "Um, Prowl, Smokescreen is fine, Ah jus' saw him out by tha holotables."

Prowl shook his helm. "Smokescreen and I have another brother. We thought him deactivated, but he has been found to be very much alive. This oversight is purely due to my negligence."

Jazz gave him a cock-opticked look, despite the visor. "Now how is any o' tha' ya fault?!"

So Prowl told him the whole sordid story. By the end Jazz had released his servos and was now cradling the Praxian's face in his servos. "Oh Prowler, this's why Ah love ya so. Ya take on such big responsibilities; hold tha weight o' tha world on ya shouldas, bu' not everythin' tha' happens in this world is ya fault."

Prowl tried to move his helm away, to protest, but Jazz was adamant. "Bad thin's happen ta good mecha Prowl. It don' matta' how much ya plan, or how many precautions ya put in place, slag's still gonna happen. This thin' tha' happened ta lil' Blue was out o' ya control n' ya gotta stop beatin' yaself up about."

Prowl looked at Jazz with distraught optics. "How can he stand to be around me knowing I did not save him?"

Jazz stood and kissed the Praxian's olfactory sensor. "Ah'm tellin' ya right now tha' lil' Blue don' care. Ya tol' meh yaself how excited he was to have a real family. Even if tha' thought has crossed his meta, he's fo'given ya. He would much ratha' have brothas ta snuggle wit' than brothas ta avoid while he holds a pointless grudge."

Jazz could see the hope start to fill Prowl's optics. "You truly believe so?"

"Yup, n' if ya don' believe meh ya should ask him yaself!" was the chipper reply. "Now ya jus' make yaself comf'table while Ah go get us some energon."

Jazz flitted out with a jaunty salute and wide grin. Prowl's wings fluttered at the solicitousness of his courtmate. He knew that if Praxus still stood there would be mecha questioning his decision to pursue a mech with so many prathama tendencies, but that was merely public-Jazz. Private-Jazz was very much a bija, albeit a strong-willed one and Prowl liked that challenge just fine. Thoughts of his courtmate prompted a review of their conversation. Prowl froze.

Jazz had said he loved him!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It took Jazz slightly longer than intended to return to Prowl's office as he had decided that the Praxian's emotional upset needed some soothing warmed energon with just a hint of spices. He stopped to listen at the door just in case some mech had stepped in for a private meeting but he heard only the faint sliding noise of a stylus in use. He entered with his usual pizzazz and slid one steaming cube in front of Prowl, then sprawled in the guest chair with the other.

Jazz could not help but notice that Prowl was regarding him with what appeared to be… awe?

"Prowler, everythin' alright?"

For a time Jazz did not think that Prowl would answer, then he did, sort of. "I hold you in very high regard and you are very special to me. I do not wish to alienate or reject your feelings, however, I am not yet ready to return the sentiment you expressed in our earlier conversation."

Jazz cast his meta back to referenced exchange trying to remember what Prowl was so obliquely talking about. Then, he remembered.

"Oh Prowler." He said empathetically. "Ah didn' mean ta spring tha' on ya. 'S alright if ya don' feel tha same yet."

Prowl shook his helm vehemently. "It is not that I do not feel… To return your feelings… Such a thing would make me… vulnerable."

The confession was hesitant and Prowl was looking off to the side by the end. It made Jazz's spark ache. "Who hurt you Prowl?"

Prowl would not meet his optics. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

The Polyhexian laid his servo on the desk between them. Prowl hesitated, but gingerly placed his servo in the saboteur's. Jazz curled their digits together and stroked his thumb over the Praxian's digits. "Then ya wait Prowler, n' Ah'll keep lovin' ya in tha meantime. 'N when ya are readeh ta tell meh, Ah promise ta lis'sen all tha way through. When it's all over Ah might be sad n' vengeful on ya behalf, but Ah'm'a still love ya to tha moon n' back."

It was moments like this that made Prowl feel like the bija in the relationship, but he would trade away proper roles for this all-pervading warmth every time.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They had almost finished their meal when the door burst open and a hyper, excited Bluestreak hopped in. He bounced around the room, then headed straight for his brother to give him a huge hug. "Prowl! Sunny and Sides have been telling me about how to be a good brother! And then they took me to the practice rooms so I could ref… ref'ree their match. They also promised to teach me to fight so I can protect my family when I get big! Then they took me to the eyrie so I could meet Cosmos and Sunstorm. They're gonna be my friends in school, but not my best friends, 'cause that's Sunny and Sides. But Sunstorm wasn't there 'cause Bee took him to get his colors repainted. 'Parently some meanie put a 'Ceptcon thingie on him, and…"

Prowl halted the stream of words with an interjection. "Bluestreak, I know the twins are your first friends here, but your best friends should be mechlings your age, not adult soldiers."

"But they _ARE_ my age!"

Prowl sighed and smiled. "Little one, while I will agree with you that they both act on the same maturity level as you the majority of the time, they are in fact both second frame adults."

Bluestreak shook his helm again. "Nuh uh, Sunny told me, lower level Kay-nites don't get third or fourth youngling frames or first adult frames."

Prowl and Jazz both straightened noticeably and looked suspiciously at the door. The twins were standing in it, frozen, having caught up to the energetic mechling just in time to hear his last statement. They grinned weakly at the sternly frowning SIC, but to no avail.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Medical Wing, now!" Prowl ordered.

"But Prowl!" Sideswipe whined. "We're fine, it's been vorns since then and nothing has ever gone wrong with our systems."

Prowl's optics narrowed. "And since I note that you have said vorns and not centuries, the order stands."

The twins began to look mulish, so Prowl stood, dropped Bluestreak off in Jazz's lap as he came around the desk, and snagged the frontliners by their sensor horn or helm fin respectively. And all before either could even begin their turn to run away.

"Keep an optic on my brother Jazz, while I escort these miscreants to the medbay for a proper scan."

Jazz snickered at the woebegone looks on the twins faceplates and threw a salute in the SICs direction. "You got it. Lil' Blue n' Ah'll make friends while ya gone."

Prowl nodded and swept out with the twins in tow.

The door closed.

Jazz turned to ask the mechling what other adventures he had gotten up to, but Bluestreak was squirming to get down. The Polyhexian released the little Praxian, curious as to what he intended to do. Bluestreak climbed into the desk chair and used it to boost himself onto the surface of the desk. Once there, the grey mechling stalked to the end and frowned sternly at Jazz.

_Oh, now that's adorable,_ Jazz thought, _He looks like a mini-Prowl!_

Bluestreak was standing with arms crossed, shoulders back, and tiny wings flared up and out. His little chassis was leaned slightly forward and his chin was tucked so the light would flash off the sharp edges of his little chevron. Jazz had to fight the urge to coo.

The adorably fearsome mechling raised an arched optic ridge and spoke. "Sunny told me sumpthin' important. He said brothers look out for brothers. He also said you're a liar."

Jazz had begun to nod his helm in agreement, but stopped when the last sentence registered.

"Hey, Ah'm no liar n'Sunstreaker ought ta know better than ta fill ya helm wit' falsehoods like that!"

Bluestreak shook his helm vehemently. "Nuh uh, you said you were makin' dinner tah be nice, but you just wanted him to like you and in-er-face with you!"

Now Jazz frowned. "Did Sunstreaker tell ya tha'?"

"Sunny said you like Prowl more than friends and that you wanna in-er-face, which makes you a liar, 'cause you said you were just my brother's friend."

Jazz leaned forward in his chair and smoothed his facial expressions so the mechling would have no doubts as to his sincerity. "Bluestreak, Ah need ya ta let meh explain n' Ah need ya ta lis'sen instead of jumpin' ta conclusions."

Bluestreak huffed, but plopped down into a cross-legged sit. Jazz interpreted that as permission.

"In Polyhex, where Ah come from, younglin's 're not told 'bout interfacin' until they're in their fourth frame n' their facin' equipment is installed. Ah didn' know if Praxus did things diff'rently, so when ya caught meh in ya kitchen Ah treated ya like Ah would any Poly sparklin'. If'n Ah'd known ya'd alreadeh been educated on tha' subject, Ah'd'a tol' ya what Ah was doin'."

Bluestreak's faceplates softened, but he still looked unconvinced. Jazz slipped out of his chair and knelt before the little mech.

"Since ya're aware of proper courtin' stuff Ah need ta ask ya somethin' important. Ah love Prowl, wit' mah whole spark kinda love, n' Ah wanna bond wit' him someorn. Would ya give meh ya permission ta court ya brotha'?"

Bluestreak stood back up on the desk and refolded his little arms. He looked conflicted, but then he seemed to come to a point of resolve. "Yes, you, may. BUT! If you hurt him I'll do something awful to you!"

Jazz smiled and nodded. "So, didja arrange all'a this wit' Sunstreaker n' Siders ahead o' time?"

"Uh huh!" Bluestreak replied with a ginormous grin. "Sunny said it's tra-di-tion to threaten siblings' potential lovers. And I'm gonna be the best brother ever!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ratchet glared at the recalcitrant twins sitting on his medical berth. The _youngling_ twins.

Their heavy-weight racer class frames were in pristine condition and their colors glowed with health. Their sparks even gave the surface illusion of adequate output. Ratchet, however, had just subjected them to the same battery of scans as Bluestreak, and he. Was. Not. Happy. With what he had found.

"So." He said with deceptive calm. "Would either of you like to save me the trouble and tell me your real spark age?"

The twins continued to sit in silent obstinacy.

Ratchet twitched sharply. "Well then, I'll tell you." He took a deep vent. "You LITTLE PITSCRAPS ARE _FOURTH FRAME_ YOUNGLINGS! You should not even be eligible for first adult frames for several more vorns! And the GLITCHES that did this to you will beg for the Unmaker's mercy if I ever catch up to them! WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME?!"

"Because it was normal!" Sideswipe shouted back.

"What do you mean normal!" The medic exclaimed angrily.

Sideswipe huffed and pulled his arm out from where it had become pinned by Sunstreaker's weight and gestured widely. "Normal! As in, if you weren't a noble it was standard! There was no reason for us to protest it because everyone went through it! We didn't even know there were other stages to younglinghood until we met Bluestreak!"

Ratchet's ire faded until he merely looked world-weary. It was unnerving to the twins who had become accustomed to the medic's verve and larger-than-functioning personality.

Ratchet slumped onto a stool. "There were reports coming out of Kaon saying that the youngling deactivation rate was three in four. The Medical Board in Iacon discredited them as rumor and hearsay and sealed the reports before they could be widely read. I believed the reports were real, but I was unable to acquire even a bootleg copy, so I always assumed the reason for such high death rates were due to lack of good energon."

Sunstreaker snorted. "Well, you weren't entirely wrong."

"Besides Ratch, we were lucky." Sideswipe piped up.

"Lucky." The medic deadpanned.

"Yeah. In Kaon there aren't any orphanages, the few charities that tried were drained of funds and energon by the gangs. All orphans and abandoned sparklings were rounded up vornly and sold to the pit bosses, then evaluated and sent either to the pleasure houses or the arenas. We were second frames when we were captured, but we were sold to one of the few 'good' pit bosses. Scythe did not run any pleasure house, as he personally found them offensive and he believed in letting 'his' younglings a few extra vorns to get strong. Even so, those younglings were taught the beginnings of the craft of the arena. He also didn't ever sell his gladiators' time either, he found it a waste of a good fighter to deal with the increase of injuries and lackluster performance after a gladiator was violated. The other pit bosses called him foolish, but his deactivation rate during reframing was half that of the rest of the pits and he boasted some of the most skilled gladiators in the region."

"Uh huh." Replied a nonplussed Ratchet. "And what was the life expectancy of those who upgraded early?"

The twins shrugged uncomfortably. "Dunno," the red one said. "Gladiators don't really last very long, there's always somemech better out there. Saber was the oldest trainer and I think he was just coming up on his tenth millennia, so pretty old."

Ratchet made a strange mournful sound in his vocalizer. "Sideswipe, I am barely considered to be in my prime and I am one hundred and forty-six millennia old. The average lifespan of our people is in the vicinity of one million millennia!"

"But Saber looked way older than you!" Sideswipe exclaimed in confusion.

"That, unfortunately, is a side effect of the premature upgrading." Ratchet said gently. "Little sparks can't power big frames for long and accelerated aging is almost always the result."

Now the twins looked frightened. "You mean that's gonna happen to us?!"

Finally, Ratchet could say something uplifting. "No, fortunately, for the both of you, your half sparks are stronger than most full sparks because they have been fighting and pulling to stay lit all their existence. Add in that the two of you must merge regularly to maintain your bond and you can both be assured that you will have a regular lifespan."

For the first time ever, Ratchet felt like he was seeing the real mechs behind the facades as the twins relaxed into their relief.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jazz examined his personal selection of virus chips and malware spikes. Once he was finished he intended to move on to his bomb kits and other incendiaries. By the time he finished he would be a walking purveyor of death and dismemberment. The first part of the plan to rescue the citizens of Cybertron required Prowl to visit the various Autobot bases under the pretense of routine inspection. There was no way that the Second in Command of the Entire Autobot Army was going to be permitted to go alone though. So, a security detail of Jazz, Cliffjumper, Steeljaw, and Digger would be going as escort. They represented the best Special Operations, The Armory's Special Forces, the Femmes' Espionage and Communications, and the Scout Corp had to offer. Technically, it should have been Hound going instead of Digger, but he was off on his bonding leave for the next decacycle.

Jazz finally completed his selection of digital nasties and was just moving on to the pyrotechnic widow-makers when he received a ping from Medical to get a temporary dock installed under his altmode roof for Steeljaw to sleep in. He returned the ping with a half-joor arrival time and received back a confirmation of his appointment followed quickly by a customary dire threat if he should not show up.

Jazz grinned and began boxing up explosives.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sunstorm was in love. It did not matter what the big mechs said, he was not too young to have found his destined mate. Uncle Thundercall had taken him to the seeker eyrie for a culture lesson while Kahti bumblebee worked his shift. When they arrived Uncle Spitfire was waiting to introduce his new cousin to him. The other mechling was the tiniest, most beautiful being Sunstorm had ever see, and he had seen the spark of Primus. Sunstorm had gotten so flustered that he momentarily lost control of his gift. As soon as he recognized the glow he had thrown himself backwards to save the beautiful mechling from being hurt. Uncle Thundercall checked the little mechling over, but he just exclaimed that it felt like warm tickles and could the new cousin do it again?

Sunstorm was smitten.

The tiny mechling introduced himself as Cosmos, a minibot orbital platform, and Uncle Spitfire explained that orbital platforms had super strong, radiation-proof armor and chassis, so Cosmos would never be harmed if Sunny lost control. After that the two younglings were set down in the atrium to learn about the history of Vos.

Sunstorm barely heard any of it; he was too busy concentrating on Cosmos shy grasp on his servo.

* * *

Starfire201: unfortunately, even Prowl is not perfect. We will be getting into the portion that parallels the cartoon soon, and I had to come up with a reason why none of the Autobots foresaw the Decepticons following them. And yes, poor Bluestreak, that event was actually the catalyst for writing this story.

CNightJoy: Thanks!

kkcliffy: glad to make your morning! Yes, it was a bit sappy, but with all the drama we needed a nice change. =)

Seademon: I have entertained the idea of a sidestory showing what happened to Sentinel after he died, but it got so gory and horrible after the second page that I discarded it, if that makes you feel any better.

RainbowGuardian13: thank you for the kind wishes even if I ended up not needing them, and good luck to your cousin! Cliffjumper will begin to have more of a showing in the story soon, gotta set up stuff for the next sequel.

child of Jon snow: thanks!


	17. Chapter 162: An Interlude

*National Geographic Logo appears on the screen*

Narrator begins opening sequence:

On this episode of National Geographic, we will be observing the untamed author and xer wild muse companion in their natural habitat. As we can observe, the untamed author sits down to write with fervent focus, a plethora of prewritten outlines, snippets of story, and the aid of xer faithful muse. The author tells xer muse xe is very determined to complete at least two chapter of xer latest magnum opus before the end of the month. The muse nods and the two bosom companions begin their trek through the wilds of Scripsit a' Capite.

Oh, but what is this?! The wild muse has spotted a small warren of plotbunnies munching from a nearby bush of distraction-berries and has gone to sniff them over. The muse seems enamored with the smallest of the bunch and picks it up gently to take to its master. The untamed author examines the offering critically, but as the plotbunny just so happens to fit into the prewritten outline xe accepts it. The untamed author reminds the wild muse that they need to stay on task if the chapter is to be done on time and the muse puts its nose firmly to the ground in search of the next piece of the Treasure of the Dialogians.

The faithful twosome makes its way deeper into the dark forest of Plot and are evermore successful in their quest. Until, in a fateful twist of events, they stumble across an enormous herd of ravenous plotbunnies devouring a small village of fanfiction writers. The untamed author hides in the bushes and laments the enslavement of so many of xer peers, but thanks the heavens that xey xemselves were not caught.

Unfortunately, the untamed author has been betrayed by xer muse! The wild muse did not hide, it leapt into the middle of the ravenous plotbunnies and is now cavorting through them, calling them to itself with a siren song. The plotbunnies bow to their new leadership and its promises of writing fulfilment. The delighted muse leads its new friends back to its horrified master and strops its back against xer legs, sure that the untamed author will be pleased with so many new stories to write.

The untamed author rebukes xer muse with firm statements about deadlines and no room for useless side plots. The untamed author expects that this will be enough and that the wild muse will give up its new friends to focus on the proper story once more. The division between the two has been made complete however, as the wild muse declares its Kingship over the ravenous plotbunnies and bounds away to establish a kingdom of anarchic half-finished stories and unresolved cliffhangers.

Tune in next episode to see how the untamed author deals with this abandonment by xer bosom companion.

*Credits Roll*

Service Announcement: This episode brought to you in part by United Authors Against Unfinished Stories; The International Muse Ownership Society; and the Reviewers for Fan Literature Association.

Commercial for the next episode:

The untamed author has found an army of Cat-Riders and descends upon the nascent kingdom of the wayward wild muse.

Service Announcement:

Special thanks goes to Canikostar99 for the loan of the Bumblebee, Arcee, and Prowl Cat-Back Riders for episode 2.

* * *

In all seriousness, I will have a chapter up soon, even if it kills me. Hopefully y'all enjoyed this little piece of the thoughts that have been going through my head while I was trying to write, despite having the walking flu and its derivatives for like 6 weeks. Yuck! And good health to every one of my readers, because from what I hear the flu, walking flu, and pneumonia are really widespread this year.


	18. Chapter 18: Finito

Hi everyone, update on Tolling Bells:

I did manage to catch the errant muse, but in the process I realized that Tolling Bells was actually complete as a story. The story was supposed to be about Bluestreak, which it was. We discovered him, found his family, and introduced the necessary characters for the overlying arc's plotline. That makes it finished. So, I am going to answer the remaining reviews for this story and start posting on the continuation, "Countdown to Destruction".

Thanks to everyone for being patient while I got everything whacked out!

On a side note, I finally came up with a name for the 'verse that wasn't just a stand-in name, 'From the Ashes', and I now have a chronological order of stories on my profile.

* * *

Searece: Well, I tried to come at it from the point of view of a pauper who has been given riches. The wise pauper will hoard and guard those riches for as long as they can. Glad you enjoyed it!

RainbowGuardian13: I'm glad to hear about your cousin!

kittyKat010: glad you liked it that much! As far as the bonding gift goes, Prowl never intends to tell Jazz, never. It is too embarrassing for him to contemplate. Smokescreen on the other hand might let the cat out of the bag.

Thanks also to CNightJoy, kittyKat010, maria-ioanna984, and Vela513 for their comments on the non-chapter!

See y'all in the next book!


End file.
